Origins of Legends
by Bub-Omb
Summary: Each champion in the League of Legends has their own story; something to make them a legend. This is a collection of the tales behind the different champions to tell of what they did to become a legend, and why they pursue enlistment in the League.
1. Author's Note

_~ To the reader_

**_UPDATED 3-29-15:_**

_I have decided on what to do with the Origins of Legends collective stories. As promised, everything will coincide with Exaltation to Exile. Being finished with the story, I now know what angle I wish to take with this one. I do plan to have one over arcing storyline, contrary to what I initially said, but it still won't intertwine in the same manner as the perspectives do in Exaltation to Exile. Think of it as a collection of prequels, and a set up for what was told, and what will come._

_Thanks for the support! Bub-Omb_


	2. Marcus 1

An older man stared longingly at a piece of paper in front of him. It was remarkably detailed and excruciatingly confusing to any outsider who would attempt to look at it.

His fingers traced the dried ink once again. It spelled out a list of names, places, and times. He was well aware of the strange and sudden appearance of the League of Legends, and how rapidly it was gaining recruits. Overall, it had a lot to promise; freedom, cures for illness, a battlegrounds to test strength, a place for those with nowhere else, etc. However, all this just made it more suspicious. Being a well respected and very powerful figure in Noxus, the organization formed to supposedly put an end to all war was not going to be gladly accepted. The most bizarre thing of it was, Jericho Swain, one of the other notable Noxian powers, was overwhelmingly accepting of the League of Legends. If the man's breath alone didn't reek of fish, his actions most definitely did.

At the very bottom of the list sat his own name, Marcus Du Couteau. The list was of people who could make a tremendous difference if dealt with in the right manner. Essentially, Marcus would be making his own recruits for the League of Legends; all who would have their own role at a specific time and place in the future. A lot of it was guesswork, and may not even be entirely accurate, but he knew that there was great potential in the people whose names sat on that piece of paper. The problem was following through with the plans.

It would mean betrayal. It would mean ending lives. It would mean sacrifices decided by him, not the people it would most affect. However, he knew that allowing the League to gain power in its own manner would be chaos to everyone involved. His conscience was the only inhibitor at that moment.

"Marcus," a voice called out. Undisturbed, he sat still and stared at his list.

"How did you get in here?" he replied, knowing his mansion was locked tighter than a gold vault.

"How did YOU get in here?" the man responded. Annoyed at the riddle, Marcus turned around to face his trespasser, and froze in his spot.

"Wha… what?" he stammered.

"Yes, Marcus, I am also, Marcus. Funny how the world works, isn't?"

"What do you, or I, want? Am I going insane?"

"No," the infiltrator told him. "I am just you from a different timeline. I am here to give you my one, my only regret of the life I lived. I am here to tell you not to repeat my mistake."

"Don't sound too clichéd now," he jested. The other Marcus grinned.

"That list. Hold it tight, and hold it dear. You must follow through with the plans, no matter the sacrifice. Believe it or not… you are the biggest deciding factor in saving Runeterra."

Marcus paused as he drummed his fingers on the paper once again.

"How do I know these are accurate? It's all just guesswork and research. What is keeping me from ruining someone's life for no greater purpose?"

"It isn't guesswork, Marcus. It is fact based. I have lived out your future already, and the future's future. I wrote that list. It is accurate." Still confused, he pocketed the piece of paper and grabbed his purple cloak off of the wall beside him.

"Very well. Where do I start?" he asked himself.

"At the top. Where else?"

"A smart aleck, even to myself. I guess I don't really need any more proof, do I?"

"Proof will come in time. Oh, and one more thing." The man tossed three trinkets Marcus' way before walking out the door. He gave no further explanation, but he knew what they were. Banshee's Veils: sacred items said to sate even the harshest of magics. Marcus rushed to the exit of the room to seek answers, but found the hallway to be entirely empty.

"Illusive, even to myself…" he muttered before walking out of the room, en route to taking down and shattering the trust of a well known and respected Solari warrior, deep within Mount Targon.


	3. Dewitt 1

A room sat in absolute silence as two men stared each other down with the world's best poker faces glued upon them. It seemed that every member of the audience was even holding their breath in order to maintain the quietness. One wore a fairly clean cut chin strap beard and goatee; while the other's facial hair was a total mess. The sharper man's long black hair was slicked back, and he wore a cowboy hat lightly tilted over his eyes. His arms crossed over his chest as he waited for his opponent to make a move.

Across from him, a man named Malcolm Graves sat with his fingers drumming the table. His brown shaggy hair clung onto its owner's sweat and the man's rough face let no emotion shine through. He reached for his poker chips and pushed one stack forward, doubling his opponent's bet. The man smiled and doubled it back, pushing two stacks of chips forward. The action incited a gasp from the audience, as Malcolm's arm encompassed his entire pile, shifting it into the betting pile. The smooth man's smile turned into a grimace before he spoke.

"This game of five card draw just turned to pretty high stakes, didn't it?" the man taunted as he matched the bet. The dealer looked at both players in astonishment, half expecting one to take back the move. When they remained silent, the man raised his head so that his eyes could clear the brim of his hat, and stared at the dealer. "Well?" Without a response, he dealt out three new cards to Malcolm, and just two to his opponent. The new additions joined the rest of their hands to give them a total of five a piece. They glared at one another, retaining their poker faces, waiting for one to show their hand. The dealer noticed the lack of incentive so he began to count down from three, implying that they should both show their hand as soon as he finished. Mesmerically, they turned over the five cards they were holding onto, and confusion instilled in every audience member: both hands held all four of the deck's aces. A slow laugh stirred up from Malcolm as a snicker was heard from his opponent. The two gradually got louder and louder until they were both roaring with laughter, much to the confusion of the audience.

As soon as they had calmed down, both men stared back at one another. Without warning, Malcolm saw an open hand extend towards him, toppling the pile of poker chips as he pushed out.

"My friend, I believe we have met our match. Dewitt. Dewitt S Faet."

"Malcolm Graves," he replied, accepting the handshake. Dewitt pulled the cowboy hat over his eyes and led the way out of the room, leaving many members of the audience confused and frustrated at the outcome of the match; namely the ones who had placed money on the victor. Malcolm followed closely behind and figured that the decision to leave the game's outcome as a draw was unanimous. The prying eyes soon lost sight of the two as they rounded the corner back into the tunnel systems beneath Demacia.

"What brings a man in a suit to the rags beneath a fancy city?" Malcolm asked.

"They kicked me out of all the casinos. They all seem to know my face by now." The response provoked a chuckle from Malcolm but he continued to watch the man's back, expecting an honest answer. When it did not come, he asked again with a different angle.

"Now partner, you still did not answer my question. Why are you down HERE?"

"Persistent. That can get you into trouble you know."

"Can't work my way out of trouble if I never get into it," he shot. The man grinned from the shadows beneath his hat and decided to trust Malcolm.

"Honestly Malcolm, I seek an equal. I have tricked, sneaked, and conned my way through so much, that I have become full of myself. I was beginning to think that I was the best. I have never been outdone in a game of cards, or matched. Ever. Malcolm," the man said, turning to face the gruff gambler, "we're going places."


	4. Dewitt 2

Emerging from the sewers where the card game took place, Dewitt and Malcolm scanned the busy streets of the large business town in Demacia named Crawn. People were outside gossiping, sweepings doormats to their stores, lighting candles and street lamps as the sun began to set, and going on last minute errands. The mass of citizens was not something Malcolm was very accustomed to, but the sight made Dewitt grin from ear to ear.

"Good pickins tonite," he said to his new partner.

"Pickins?" Malcolm asked, confused in the lack of context.

"Heh, lemme show ya." Dewitt picked up his pace and made his way into the crowd. Within seconds, he blended in to the citizens of Crawn nearly perfectly. From Malcolm's seat on the park bench, he could not keep track of the man. Unamused by the magic trick, he leaned back and lit a cigarette, perfectly comfortable with waiting on the man's return.

The wait was not long as Malcolm was forced out of his skin by a tap on his shoulder from behind. He whirled around and drew his revolver on the man, prepared to shoot the unwelcome guest. Dewitt place a gentle hand on the barrel and lowered it to look him in the eye. Holding his arm out to the side, just within peripherals, he dangled a bag that chimed with motion.

"Where'd that come from?" Malcolm asked. His partner replied with a chuckle.

"That gentleman out yonder, that fine lady there, those little boys over there, that older man in the distance, that shopkeeper to the left, the man -"

"Aight, aight, I get it. You got slick fingers for loose pockets. This how you spend yer time? Stealin'?"

"Hey hey, stealin' is a rude term. I 'fer the word borrowin'."

"Borrowin'? The hell you borrowin'? Time till the sheriff gets yer ass?"

"Heh. Somethin' like that," Dewitt lowered his hat and lit a cigarette of his own. The two sat on the bench and watched people rummage through the streets until the sun set on the scene, leaving just a few stragglers left to find their way home.

"So what do you do for money? Con fools in gamblin' bets?"

"Naw," Malcolm replied, twirling the chamber of his revolver. "I just take it when I need it."

"Ah, so you have slick fingers too?"

"No. I mean I just take it."

"Er, I'm a bit lost, Malcolm. Take it from where?" The outlaw's expression shifted from one of boredom to one of pleasure.

"Where they keep all of the money, of course." He got up, flicked the cigarette stub into the grass, and made his way towards the streets, sheathing his revolver in his coat pocket. Dewitt followed just behind, curious as to the man's intentions.

The two traveled a little ways until they came across the bank of Crawn. Malcolm looked around the front face of the building in search of the easiest way in. A few seconds and a laugh later, he tapped his fingers on the front window's glass pane.

"Door's covered in solid steel. Ain't gettin' in there without making a boom," Faet told him.

"Boom?" Malcolm cracked the glass down with a solid punch to the middle. He broke away enough shards to make room for himself to climb through, squeezed past the poorly spaced bars, and offered a hand to help Dewitt through.

"Or do you only use the door, ma'am?" Graves jested. He rolled his eyes and climbed into the bank as well.

The inside was poorly lit, being past dusk, and no one stood guard. A quick flick of a match brought the place to life, and the metallic vault behind the counter shone in and out with the breath of the fire. The wooden structure of the building glowed a soft amber color and the entire place seemed half as sturdy as the vault it contained.

Malcolm jumped over a few counters and made his way to the large lock. He looked at it for a moment and grinned, coming up with an idea.

He opened up his revolver and poured a few of its shells out into his grimy palm. With a few twists and knocks, he popped the casings off and poured the gunpowder into his alternate hand, crumpled it up, and prepared to coat the lock.

"Hold it, partner." Faet pushed him aside lightly and pressed one ear up the wall and kept a hand on the lock's dial. Malcolm waited patiently as the wheel turned and clicked softly, mixed with a few light groans and coughs as the man worked. A few minutes later, a sharp ping resonated off of the building's old wood and he pulled the heavy door wide open.

"Voila," he said with a smirk.

"Sunuva bitch," Graves stated in disbelief. He walked into the vault to begin stuffing his coat, and the shotty brown sack he brought, with as many stacks of cash as could fit. Between the two of them, nearly all of the money fit, and they turned to leave the building together.

The outlaw sprinkled the gun powder over the ground as he walked out of the old bank, and the rotting wood's cracks housed the explosive securely. As they stepped out, he turned and tossed in the remains of the match he had used to light the room.

"Better move quick," he said as he tossed an unwrapped roll of bills in behind the match. As they jogged out, Dewitt turned a confused look his way.

"What was that for?"

"Give 'em reason to believe it was just arson, not robbery."

"Sly devil," said the smooth man with a grin. "How often you do this?"

"Every time my wallet runs dry. Can't stay in one place long. So where we goin' next? What's that grand scheme of yours have in store for us?"

"Apparently not far…" he muttered. Confused, Graves look at the road in front of them and saw a dark complexioned woman standing with a large rifle pointed their way.

"Shit, that ain't no normal gun mister Faet. I dunno how the hell it's as big as it is. Shit could shoot down an elephant."

"Or just a robber and an arsonist," the woman shouted out over the crackling fire in the background.

"Whatchu want girl? The money back? The building's gone unless you call for help soon."

"I want justice," she said through clenched teeth. A shot rang out in the quiet streets and the duo split in opposite directions. Bullets flew in rapid succession just at their heels as they sprinted for cover behind houses. Assuming the woman was part of the police force, she would not continue firing if it would harm civilians.

"Turn yourselves in cowards! I've seen your faces! The rest of the force will come for you!" Malcolm and Dewitt stared each other down from across the street. The outlaw drew his revolver and cocked it, swinging the barrel towards the woman. Knowing he was unarmed, Dewitt realized it was up to him to create the distraction. He quickly shuffled out of sight and crashing was heard from his side of the street. The woman stood still, keeping her sights aimed at the motion. Malcolm crept along and waited for exceptionally loud bangs and cracks to make a sprint to the next piece of usable cover in the alleyways.

It came to a clear dead end that he would either have to sprint across the open to get into range, or hope that he could crawl quietly enough while the cop was entirely distracted. The latter seemed hopeless, so Malcolm sat tight. He watched as the woman shot a few rounds into the gaps between houses as Dewitt shambled from them.

One of the shots was followed by a sharp crack and a cry of agony. Malcolm's heart jumped as he felt his new found friend fall in defeat, but sat tight, waiting for a better angle on the officer. Before he had time to ponder any longer, a crash echoed out as a casing of barrels tumbled from the Faet's alleyway. Seizing the opportunity, Graves sprinted out from behind an old shaggy house and sank two quick shots into the back of the police officer's legs. Anguish hung in the air as she fell to the ground and dropped her gun in front of her, and he stood over the woman, waiting for her next words.

Movement could be seen from the shadows in front of him, and Malcolm shifted his attention its way. Dewitt stepped out holding his hat over his eyes, but the priceless grin needed a brim twice as wide to hide.

"Not a bad actor, eh Malcolm?"

"Fuck you…" the woman croaked.

"Shoulda brought more men, hun." Dewitt taunted. He picked up the gun to examine it and removed the ammunition cartridge from beneath it. A quick shot into the ground ensured it to be completely unloaded, and he waved an upturned hand towards the downed enemy. "Honor's yours, hotshot."

Graves looked down at the woman and clenched the revolver tightly in his hand. A long sigh proceeded a holstering of his weapon as he turned to walk away.

"Ain't worth our time. She's no threat. No need ta stack murder on top of our charges."

"Your call Malcolm," he said with a shrug. The two walked out of Crawn eastward, and the cop sat in the dirt bleeding from her legs, staring at the men walking out of her town.

"Malcolm…" she said under her breath, as firefighters and paramedics arrived at the scene, beginning to put out the bank's fire and aid the downed woman.


	5. Dewitt 3

The road out of the bustling Demacian town of Crawn was fairly quiet and peaceful. It was a feeling Malcolm was used to, and very happy with, but the serenity was not seen by Dewitt. The silence irked him, and he was not sure how much longer he could continue to walk with nothing more than the soft haze of smoke from his ally's perpetually lit cigar end to provide comfort.

"Do you uh… always travel in silence?" Dewitt asked. Malcolm replied with nothing more than a grunt and kept moving along, smoking quietly, holding his hands behind his head with his chest puffed out. Unsure how to take the response, he kept silent and let his thoughts wander, putting faith in the man leading him, assuming there was a general sense of direction guiding their travel. However, that thought still irked him.

"Where we goin' partner?" he pressed.

"Hmm? Ain't I followin' you? You's the one askin' for someone to travel with," Malcolm replied through puffs on his cigar.

"Well… Yeah. So why are you in front?"

"Figured you'd move me along if I was goin' the wrong way. You do have a plan, right?"

"I do. I had hoped you were headin' somewhere though. Kinda thought I'd tag along with you for a while, make sure you knew I was trustworthy 'fore I asked anything from you."

"You ain't trustworthy. But I ain't trustin' no one neither."

"How you figure?"

"You ain't got a gun. Why would a man go gamblin', playin' in slums, assist with robbery, an' not have a gun?" Dewitt was slightly surprised by the remark, but he thought about his options.

"You would trust me more if I had a gun?"

"Ain't no trustworthy men walkin' around without one. Means he knows someone else's got his back, so he don't have to. An' if someone else's got his back, he got connections. Connections, ain't trustworthy." Malcolm's facial expressions hardly changed a wrinkle as he spoke. He had faith in the truth of his own words, but did not seem to be deterred by the idea of traveling with such a man.

"So why are you still with me? You aren't makin' much sense partner."

"Just 'cause I don't trust ya, don't mean I can't work with ya. Why should I trust ya? I met you just yesterday in a game of cards you cheated in." Dewitt chuckled.

"Alrighty, fair enough. Well lemme ask you somethin'. What kinda favor can I do you for ya to change your mind?"

"Favor? Thought I was doin' a favor for you," Malcolm said, seemingly a bit perturbed by the change of destination.

"Well that's the issue; I do need someone to help me out, but it's gotta be someone I trust. So if we need to make a few detours, it'll be worth my while."

"Well, you could start by 'splainin' why you ain't armed while you're attendin' a poker game you went into, knowin' you were cheatin', then stealin' from townsfolk, then bank robbin'."

"To be fair, you were the one wantin' to do the bank robbin'," Faet said with a grin.

"You's dodgin' the question again. I ask things plain an' simple, I 'spect a plain an' simple answer."

"Alright, alright. Guess the answer is I do got connections. People to make sure I ain't goin' nowhere, an' that someone pays if I do. Probably not the answer you're looking for though, huh?"

"Nah, it's the honest answer. That's all I need to know. So let's head to Piltover. They got somethin' I'd like to have." Dewitt smiled.

"I am pretty good at gettin' things I want. Especially if I'm not supposed to have it." The remark drew out a grin from Malcolm.

"Then we's in business."

* * *

The men continued walking until they hit a small town, set between Noxus and Demacia, called Kalamanda. They were close to some mines that had found many ancient trinkets and icons, some long thought forgotten, and some never known to be missed. The town had grown in popularity rapidly with its discovery, but that merely pulled it from a dinky town to a small one. Within a year, assuming the mines continued to find treasures, it was predicted to grow almost as big as the port towns of Bilgewater, being the largest commercial overseas trading posts.

The two of them kept their heads down, knowing that there were plenty of people in Valoran aching to get a pistol pointed at one of their heads, and Dewitt made sure to keep his hat low and his voice lower. They needed a bed for the night, although it was very late already. Additionally, faster transportation up to Piltover would be exceptionally helpful.

The town was quiet, with a few travelers moving in and out, either lost, returning from late night expeditions, or partially intoxicated. Malcolm pointed to a bench just outside of a bar, and the two took a quick seat. Dewitt waited for something to be said, but his partner stayed silent. He sighed, realizing that there would probably be a lot of silence in their travels.

"What're we waitin' on Malcolm?"

"Shhh…" He pressed a finger to his lips as he let the soft whisper out with it. Dewitt waited patiently, and almost as if predicted, a large racket began to clank and clatter its way up the town, a man overly enthusiastic and hollering the whole way from his seat in the vehicle. A few townsfolk shuffled outside to see what all of the commotion was about, and it was only a matter of minutes before the barkeeper joined them.

Malcolm moved quick as he slid past the man leaving, to scoot inside, followed ever so closely by Dewitt. Seeing the bar empty of sober people, he vaulted the counter and grabbed booze and bread from the storage in the back. Grinning, he was about to head back out when he heard the front door close, indicating that the bar keeper had decided that the excited man was not worth his time.

"Well Malcolm, what now?"

"Heh. We leave," he replied. Confused, he followed Malcolm out and watched closely.

"Hey!" the barkeeper shouted as he saw the men leaving with his supplies. He drew a pistol but not before Malcolm hit him head on with a full body shoulder charge. The man was surprisingly quick for being as large as he was. Getting to his feet, he busted out of the front door, running towards the crowd of people gathering near the new traveler.

He had rode into town in a hextech powered truck, and was boasting about the grand discovery down at the mines, of which he was taking sole credit for. A smirk erode over Malcolm's face.

He and Dewitt shifted through the crowd, now starting to stir as the barkeeper ran around looking for the outlaws, and got to the truck the boastful man had so ignorantly left behind. He tossed the bag of bread and bottles of booze into the truck bed, and got into the driver's seat.

Dewitt hopped in shotgun, and the two scouted around for a key. Underneath the carpet protecting the truck's floor, a spare key was tucked away. Chuckling, Malcolm stuck it into the ignition, and floored it in reverse. Only at the sound of the loud vehicle revving its engine, did the traveler turn to see what was going on at his truck. By the time he had begun to chase after them, followed shortly by the angry barkeeper, the two had turned the truck around and started on their way northeast to Piltover.


	6. Nautilus 1

"Are you certain that you have to go? I really don't like the idea…"

"Honey, it's what I do for a living. Why would this be any different from all of the other ocean's I have charted?"

"It shouldn't… but… I don't like where the request is coming from."

"The Institute of War? Why would that be a deterrent?"

"I just…"

"Do you not trust them? They are trying to settle conflicts and reduce war! How could they possibly be setting me up by exploring an ocean?"

"I suppose you are right. I will help you pack your things. How long do you need to be gone?"

"We venture to the Guardian's Sea, leaving by sunrise tomorrow. It's not even the full length to Ionia; they just want us to go further east than a traditional route would go. I can't imagine being gone more than a few weeks." She nodded in response before giving her husband a hug and continuing to pack up the rations he would need while at sea, and checking that all of his diving gear was packed and ready to go. She kissed his diving gloves before stowing them away in the suitcase, causing the man to grin.

"Never dropped a thing with those gloves on, or lost a grip," he told her.

"I know, it's because I never let you leave without giving them my love. You will never lose your grip, and I will never lose you." The husband smiled and gave her a kiss. They finished packing his belongings and went to bed before he embarked on his journey.

* * *

The sky was beautifully lit from the sun beaming over the ocean's waves in the distance, illuminating the man's ship and bringing a smile to face. He enjoyed traveling the sea almost as much as he enjoyed being at home with his family. It was an occupation that he held no regrets in pursuing.

"Captain Nautilus! Are you ready to embark?"

The captain looked at the lad calling out to him, and then back at the luggage, including the massive diving suit, that his wife had helped him pack. He smiled and nodded to the boy before picking up the pace and walking onto the ship. Glancing around at his crew he noted that they looked fairly standard to him, ages ranging fifteen to forty, all male, and most dressed poorly but at the same time, properly for traveling the ocean. One man stood out from the rest, wearing a cowboy hat and jeans, and staying to the corner keeping very quietly to himself. Nautilus did not think much of it, but planned to keep his eye on him nevertheless.

The captain unloaded his belongings into the captain's quarters, and set things up to make himself comfortable. He was always at home inside of his ship, and was glad that the Institute of War was willing to let him use his own vessel, even if the crew was not his usual. After tidying things up, he walked back out to the main deck and smiled at the helmsman.

"Well what are you waiting for?!" Nautilus called out in his deep, but kindhearted, tone. He got a nod in response and the anchor was raised, the sail was lowered, and the ship embarked into the vast oceans before them. The bow cut through the blue water and sent it coursing halfway up the sides of the ship, making an all too familiar sound to Nautilus, reassuring him that he truly was at peace while sailing.

* * *

The next few days passed fairly quickly as the crew made their way deep into the Guardian's Sea, just north of Bilgewater where they had departed from. Nautilus kept his charts about him as he sketched in rocks and any visible terrain among the water. He had his map set up in a grid so that, knowing the speed of the ship relative to the water, he knew when they had traveled from one box to the next, and where to place the things he saw. For the most part, the map was empty space. Not much more than water expanded the distance they had traveled, but that did not deter Nautilus. He wanted to go home to his wife, but the solace he acquired while at sea kept him from rushing through his work and completing a task while journeying; most likely the reason that the Institute had chosen him for the task.

From the crow's nest, a sailor called out to the captain.

"Look ahead! 'bout four miles north!"

"Four NAUTICAL miles…" the captain murmured to himself. He got to the front of his ship and peered out to see what the man was calling out for. A black substance oozed from the water's surface as time went on, seemingly spreading out to gradually cover more area. "Pull us close!" Nautilus yelled to the helmsman.

"What?! Are you crazy?! I ain't going near that crap!" Nautilus' expression shifted from one of curiosity to one of distaste. He turned about and shot a glare at the man steering the wheel and seemed to petrify him with it.

"WHAT did you just say to your captain?" he replied.

"Nu… Nothing sir!"

"T'was what I thought…" The boat slowed as the crew came close to the goop and by the time they let down the anchor, the blacked waters nearly licked up the sides of the vessel. Nautilus peered into it and tried to determine what it was. He had been instructed to explore and record anything he had found. Being unable to see through the surface, he decided someone would have to venture into the liquid.

"Who's going in eh?" Nautilus questioned his crew. The mass of sailors had encompassed the perimeter of the ship closest to the dark swamp, trying to get a closer look. Upon hearing the question, many backed away and stood around looking at one another with worried expressions.

"No takers? What a rotten bunch of pussies…" The captain pushed past his "crew" and moved to his quarters to don his diving gear. Knowing how difficult it is to walk on land with the suit on, he dragged the case towards the edge of the ship and dressed there. A few, more brave, men assisted him in equipping the armor in near silence. He shifted his weight over the rail of the ship and prepared to jump in, beginning to fasten the recovery cable to his gear. The boat rocked violently and forced him to drop the rope. Noting that all of his men had backed away from the edge in fear, he began to vault the rail back on board to grab the clip himself. He found the maneuver more difficult than he had expected, but a sudden realization of something amiss dawned on him; he had dropped something with his gloves on.

Frantically, he tried to shift his massive weight over the side once again, but found that he was completely incapable of movement. A sharp tug around his waist brought him away from the ship and towards the blackened waters. Feeling around his waist, he noticed some sort of tentacle gripping his body and yanking him towards the goo. He grabbed hold of the railing and clung as best he could. The being holding him rattled Nautilus and the vessel as one in an attempt to loosen his grip.

"HELP!" Nautilus cried."Give me your hand!" A few men rushed to the side of the ship, but not to assist him. They began stomping on his hands and attempting to wrench him free of the railing.

"NO, STOP! PLEASE!" Nautilus shouted. The sailors' grim expressions remained unwavering as they heard a roar from the water's below them. Among the men attempting to destroy his grip, the man with the cowboy hat emerged, holding a golden colored card in his. The captain peered into his eyes with anxiety and hoped that the man was able to save him from the shallow grave that awaited.

"Never lost your grip huh? Sorry partner, you're lucks just run dry." The man tipped his hat and flicked the card at Nautilus' hands. The moment the two came into contact, the captain lost all feeling in his fingers and they slipped away from the rail, and the diver was lost beneath the black waters. A few moments later, he regained motion and grabbed onto the anchor. The metal chain holding it to the vessel creaked and groaned in the tug of war game the creature played with it. Nautilus tried to cry out for help once again, but nothing more than a watery murmur sputtered forth before he heard the steel give one last groan and fracture into a glittering of pieces that decorated the dark waters above the diver.

The crew stared blankly at one another, deciding whether or not to condone the man with the card for having sacrificed their captain. Before any of them could make a decision, they noticed that he had disappeared completely from their ranks. The boat continued to rock for a few moments in an attempt to settle upright, while bubbles erupted from the muck in gentle reminder that there was still a man beneath its waves, screaming and struggling for life.


	7. Nautilus 2

The water was a cold reminder of loneliness as Nautilus awoke, miles beneath the surface, completely blinded by the lack of light around him. Instinctively, he reached to flick the switch for the flashlight on his diving gear's helmet. His memory was a blur, and the action did not feel natural. He shifted his arm left to right and curled his fingers. It was easier than it should be, feeling as if nothing was restricting his motions. Momentarily setting down his anchor, he scratched one hand with the other and felt not the drag of a glove against the back of his hand, but the scratch of his fingers against his skin. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, deep in thought. Nothing sat on his mind, and he could not fathom where he was. After opening his eyes, a ray of light shot forward to illuminate the ground immediately in front of him.

Nautilus picked one foot up and lurched it forward. The movement was awkward and slow, but it was progress. One after another, he hauled his legs across the ocean floor. The fish swimming around him seemed absolutely terrified of his presence, swimming furiously in the opposite direction as he approached. Even larger aquatic animals such as sharks and squids reacted in the same manner.

Clomp.

The echoing shockwave of his own footsteps troubled him. He could feel the ground literally crumble with every step, feeling ten times heavier than he ever had, even with the added weight of the anchor taken into consideration.

Clomp.

He was not quite sure as to why he was still holding onto the tremendous anchor, but he also had no reason to put it down. The fact that he was holding onto a severed anchor alone was perplexing enough. Setting it down and leaving it behind seemed like nothing more than a setback to understanding his situation.

Clomp.

The waters around him were of no navigatable use. Every inch looked just like the next, and Nautilus could barely cling to a sense of direction as he marched through the liquefied hell. He could feel the cool waters around him, cold from the lack of sun's warmth in the deep, but he had no idea how. His skin did not chill like he knew it should, but he could still feel his surroundings. It was as if the diving suit were one with him.

Clomp.

A littering of wood and metal polluted his view forward, standing out drastically from the black depths he had been seeing. A few stray corpses could be seen as specs, floating along the presumed top to the water. The sight was oddly reassuring, being a definite upwards direction.

Clomp.

Nautilus noticed some familiarities to the debris about him. He knew what it belonged to but the memory was resting just out of mental reach. Even after digging deeper and rattling his brains, he came up empty handed. To combat, he grabbed a mass drifting nearby and inspected it thoroughly. Gears shifted positions as his memory clicked into place, defining the wreckage as his own ship.

Clomp.

Nautilus tossed the part of his own desk aside and he continued onward. The reference point was at least beneficial as he continued forward, but he still had no idea what cardinal direction he marched. Land would become close eventually, and so he pressed onwards.

Clomp.

…

Clomp.

…

Clomp.

* * *

The shore came into view after an eternity of marching forward. No one seemed to notice the goliath emerging from the ocean floors, one small step at a time. Walking on the surface was much easier than attempting to progress underwater. The lack of pressure made for productive movement, and the toll it had been taking upon Nautilus was becoming quite clear as his feet broke out of the water's thick grasp.

A slight ways in front of him was a worn down tavern that he decided to search into. The inside was far from welcoming; windows were broken and the floors were still wet and partially flooded in some areas from being so close to the shore. Very little light shone in, apart from the sun's rays that crept through the shattered windows and refracted about the room into random areas that prevented a clear view of any one object about him. The room he stood in held a turquoise hue and many barrels, crates, and wooden tables were strewn about as if it was supposed to have a nautical theme for its guests.

The diver wondered how he was not hungry, and how he was able to walk such a great length without any fuel or energy; it had to be some sort of magical force flowing through him. Nautilus never had any control on mana before, but perhaps the tar he was dragged into was to blame for spontaneous empowerment.

Standing inside the tavern, Nautilus heard scurrying from far corners of the room, and frantically looked about. Nothing could be seen, so he decided to take a seat on a nearby barrel. The wood creaked and splintered under his weight, but the metal bands held strong. He felt as if no one else was in the room, but he kept hearing odd noises regardless. The murky water beneath him was swaying with time, so he assumed the motion was causing sounds to echo throughout.

Nautilus set down his anchor and rubbed one arm with the other, tugging on his gloves to try and take them off since he was no longer submerged. It felt like he was attempting to yank of his skin, so he quit and stared at the flooring. Nautilus heaved out a heavy sigh as he sat but locked up immediately afterwards; his own voice was unfamiliar to him. It held the usual deep tone, but it was difficult to speak and what did come out held a strange resonation to it. Part of him wanted to call out to the room so that he could listen to himself, but if there was something clambering about, making more noise was sure to attract it. Against his better judgment, he spoke up.

"Hell-ooo?" He got no response. "Nooo onesss heeere..." he muttered.

"Are you sure?" a voice asked in response. Nautilus jerked upright, his metallic suit's joints creaking with the sudden motion, and twisted around to find the source of the predator.

"Never, lost, your grip," it taunted. The words sounded familiar but he could not place a meaning to it.

"Never, lost, your grip. Grip on what Nautilus? Sanity?" The words stung until his brain shot out an answer; the man with the cards had said them before stunning Nautilus' hands and leaving him to plunge into the dark ocean. The following events were a blur, up until he awoke underwater in his suit.

"Never lost your grip on... your family perhaps?" An image appeared before Nautilus and his heartstrings suffered a sharp tug.

"My... Familyyy..." Nautilus stared at them, gaining a feeling of anxiety the longer he stared.

"Falling short of breath Nautilus? Drowning, perhaps?" the voice chanted. The captain began to gasp for breath before instinctively clawing at his backside to see if his oxygen tank was damaged. He felt around for seconds until he realized that there was no tank attached to him at all. It seemed impossible, seeing as he had just traveled along the ocean's floor for what seemed to be eternities, unless his hunch about a magical or mana induced influence had taken seed inside of him. Realizing his panic was pointless, Nautilus spoke to the entity wrapping him.

"Wherrre isss my familyyy?" he insisted, hoping the thing would give him a straight answer.

"How long does a family last, with no provider, no father, no income?"

"No..." The diver muttered, approaching the image of his family before it faded out. "Whaaat nightmaaare arrre yooou?"

"Am I your nightmare? You look more like mine," the voice stated. The water where the captain's family had stood showed him just what the monster was talking about. His reflection was one of horror; he wore no face, just a black shadow masked by the diver's helmet he wore. His eyes were a deep red and shone outwards from the hull like flashlights, and the rest of his person stood as a horrendous metallic figure. "Never, lost..."

"STOOOP!" Nautilus shouted as he hurled his anchor into the darkness. It crashed into a wall and wood splinters shot out in every direction. The diver covered his face from the shrapnel with his arm and heard a laugh ringing out at him. Nautilus bowed his head and listened intently. His hearing let the sound reverberate throughout the room like sonar and he shot his cupped hand outward to choke slam the creature to the floor. Sawdust and moldy water leaked from around the black wispy being and Nautilus stared into its face with his luminescent eyes.

"Carrre to tessst my grrrip? Now tell meee... Wherrre arrre theyyy?" he demanded. The creature sputtered for a moment before replying crudely.

"I thought I made that clear... Perhaps not enough for your thick skull..." The captain's clasp tightened around the neck it held, provoking an actual response. "They are dead Nautilus. Your family suffered while you wandered about..." A metallic fist slammed against the side of the ghastly face mocking him.

"NOT themmm... My 'crew'... Where ARRRE they?!"

"Mostly dead. Some insane or scattered. One rests soundly within the sanctity of the League of Legends... Looks like you won't be getting the pleasure of revenge, will you?" Nautilus roared in frustration and tossed the being aside. He slammed his foot into the ground like an upset child throwing a tantrum and a shockwave resonated throughout the abandoned tavern. The blast tore down the poorly boarded walls and further shattered windows. The diver walked out of the tavern and set off with only one destination in mind; the League of Legends.

* * *

"Where is he now, Nocturne?" the High Council member asked of his assailant.

"En route to the League of Legends, just as planned," the spectral substance replied, having dropped the spooky charade he had been putting on previously.

"Perfect. As for our end of the bargain, Thresh will be arriving at the Shadow Isles shortly. Less so alive than perhaps preferred, but he is on the way."

"Dead works. We have our methods," Nocturne replied before shifting away into the black veil about them.


	8. Graves 1

A man sat alone in saloon with his shotgun placed over the table in front of him. He stared blankly at the weapon and tried not to immediately associate its appearance with all of the events that had come along with it. He ran the back of his fingers across the length of its barrel and the skin of his knuckles felt out the engravings of the word "destiny": a word that felt so soft and light on his fingers, but its imprint sank so deep into his memories that the concept alone seared with pain. He continued his blank stare and did not bother wavering it with even as little as a sigh. He had no idea where to go or what to do, but he knew that he was not happy with his life and the paths he had taken. However, in the end, he accepted it. He was unsure if acceptance was what left him so blank, but he knew that he needed to find a new purpose, because that empty saloon was not where he intended to spend the rest of his life.

He swung his legs to the side and stood up. He glanced around the empty bar and let a smile erode over his face. He lowered his gaze and pulled his cowboy hat over his eyes so that he did not have to look at the mess he had left behind. After picking up his gun from the table, he stepped over the corpse of the first drunken idiot who had tried to start a fight, and weaved in and out of the rest. The entire place looked as if it had just survived a war; yet, the truth was it had just survived a mob and one angry man with a gun. He helped himself to a non-shattered beer from behind the bar tender's counter and walked out of the saloon. He expected that there would be some police coming to investigate soon enough, but he did not particularly care. He had spent such a long time in jail already that a little longer would not hurt him much. And besides, he had no intention of being caught.

He walked down the dirt road with the same mannerisms that he used before; his hat pulled over his face and his head bowed to cover his eyes. His shotgun rested on his shoulder in a way that seemed much too casual for its massive size. The man was well built and the heavy nature of the weapon could hardly be considered a deterrent for him. His short gristly beard was so tough that it scraped his hands when he rubbed his chin; not that it mattered, his hands and face were already covered in cracked calluses and healing scars. He walked out of the town without meeting a single person, and began walking into the open valley outside of civilization. He pondered the massive quantity of options that he had on routes to take. The most obvious one was to get his revenge on a man that had attempted to ruin his life. He had been a close friend and a good ally, but, just as the pair had done on many others in the past, the friend turned on him. As a result, he got to spend the next few years of his life in a prison cell, surviving off of sloppy meals and a bitter sting for revenge. And even though he had gotten out, he was not sure where he should go. He did not just want to walk up to the man and shoot his face to kingdom come. Odds are, he would get tricked and end up back in prison, without his gun, and with his previous friend standing there to laugh in his face. However, not a whole lot of options seemed to be presenting themselves.

He tossed aside the empty beer bottle with a moan. He had hoped that it would last for a slightly longer portion of his travel. Perhaps he would just seek another bar to sit at until someone looked at him funny. He opened his shotgun to the sound of a crack and a satisfying ping to indicate the empty shell flying from its old home inside of the weapon. The man pulled two new shells out and loaded them in before shutting the gun tightly. He had blown a fair amount of ammunition in the bar, but the soft jingle of metal and plastic in his backpack assured him that there was plenty more if needed.

His lonely walk towards nothingness was interrupted as an old acquaintance stood in his path. He chose not to say a word to the woman. In fact, he did not even acknowledge her presence as he marched along. She called out to him.

"Malcolm, where do you head?" she asked. He did not say a word to her and continued forward. As he passed her, she fell in line behind him and followed in silence. "Did you not hear me? Or perhaps you are too intoxicated?" Malcolm was persistent in his silent charade but the woman had no intention of leaving her question unanswered. "You are not talking to me. You have done something bad again, haven't you?"

"The hell's it matter?" he finally shot back.

"Your language is as foul as always."

"And you haven't stopped bitchin' at me yet. Guess it makes us even, huh?"

"That is hardly a matter to consider level…" the woman replied.

"Are you still here? Could ya get lost 'fore I kick your ass away?"

"You would not touch me," she told him. He did not respond immediately but he continued walking in the directionless vector.

"No ma'am. But why do you keep comin' back? I ain't nobody worth followin'."

"You have a good heart, Malcolm. I see that."

"Bullll shit. My heart was shot long ago. It's still beatin' simply cause I'm too damned stubborn to let it stop."

"While that may be true, that truth is, in itself, an admirable trait," the woman said. Malcolm let out a long and heavy sigh that was followed by more silence. The woman pursued quietly to see if he would respond, and piped up when she determined that he had no intention of talking anymore.

"Where are you going, Malcolm?" she asked again.

"Hell if I know. Away."

"That's hardly a direction."

"Look, I ain't got shit, okay? I ain't got my family, I ain't got a girl, I ain't got no friends, hell, only thing I got is this shotgun."

"You have faith, Malcolm," the woman said.

"Ma'am, I appreciate your courtesy, I really do, but I'm a long lost soul. There ain't no room for my faith."

"You tell yourself that…"

"I'm telling YOU that," Malcolm insisted.

"You have done good things Malcolm, I've seen you do them."

"Yeah? You see the pricks I filled with lead too? You see the shithead jailer I force fed the sorry end of my shotgun to? You seen the women I pillaged 'cause I wanted to?"

"These acts are forgivable." Malcolm stopped his march and turned the face the woman.

"Alright. I give. What you want?"

"You still have yet to answer me. Where are you heading?"

"I ain't goin' nowhere. I want to shoot that sorry son'bitch's head off of his damn shoulders, but I know I won't be able to."

"So, you should have no reason to object to my request?" the woman told him.

"No. Guess not. Whatchu want?"

"Come with me to Ionia. We need your help."

"The hell could you possibly need my help in particular for?"

"You have a will that cannot break, and the ability to fight like none other. We could use these characteristics." Malcolm was genuinely confused at this point, but he did not voice it. He stared at the woman following him and waited for her to explain more in depth. "You have been locked up for quite some time. Ionia has been invaded by the country of Noxus."

"And? Hell's it got to do with me?"

The people of Ionia are peaceful… we need warriors. Warriors who will not crumble at the sights of what Noxus is doing to my people."

"Karma…" Malcolm began. "I ain't never gunna understand your Ionian faith gibberish. But you win. I'll go with you." She smiled at him and nodded solemnly.

"Very well. We will need to head to a port and sail there. Which you have taken us in the opposite direction of."

"Ma'am, I'm no stranger to walkin'," Malcolm replied.


	9. Graves 2

Malcolm and Karma walked into the nearest port and made their way to the sailor's yard. Karma asked around to see if anyone knew of a ship that was headed towards Ionia and found one that planned to ship off shortly. The two made their way to the docks but a man stopped them from boarding the ship.

"Sir, I am going to have to ask you not to take the weapon on board," the man told Malcolm.

"And I am going to have to ask you to shove it up your ass and– "

"What he means to say is, he needs the weapon for where we are heading. Is there a way we can take it as luggage?" Karma interjected.

"You may enter ma'am, but I am afraid your friend here is too hostile. I cannot allow him to board with the other passengers."

"Hostile? You want me to show you hostile?" Malcolm shot.

"Malcolm, calm yourself. Sir, perhaps I can dissuade you?" Karma said as she handed a gold coin to the man barring their entry. His eyes opened wide at the money and he quickly swiped it up from his guest.

"Make yourself at home. Just try not to upset the other passengers. I assume you can keep him under control?" the man asked Karma.

"Absolutely," she said with a wide smile. Malcolm stared at the woman in disbelief as they walked onto the ship and made their way to its bow.

"I didn't know priestesses bribed," Malcolm stated as they stood and stared into the ocean.

"Anything to keep violence at bay." Malcolm expected the answer, it was in her nature. He thought back to some of the first encounters he had with Karma. He had no idea why the woman continued to put her faith into him, but she seemed to stick to him like glue. Malcolm hated spending time reminiscing, but he did so very frequently. Not much of anything that he did would not link back to some memory of his anymore, especially when he had a massive amount of waiting to do, like he did just then.

* * *

Malcolm stared at the rags around his feet as if they would turn into the fathomed ruby slippers enabling his exit from his hell. The bars in front of him taunted the soul of every individual looking upon them. Their rusted metal was almost as painful to see as they were to touch. The very fact that they were in a better state than he was, depressed him. The food he scraped from the bottom of his bowl like a dying dog reminded him of the mounds of fecal matter one would see left by the horses on the roadside. He heard a soft patter of footsteps in the distance and dropped his spoon to the ground; he was not about to let the jailer see him grasp at the pretend food in his bowl.

"Get the fuck away from me," Malcolm said before the man had even entered the room.

"My my, quite the disturbed individual are we?"

"I told you to GET THE FUCK AWAY!" the bearded man shouted.

"Tsk. Such a rude one. You don't know how much it will please me to watch your head roll off of the chopping block. You know, they say that the legal process is moving along quite quickly for you. It would seem that someone wants you dead very soon."

"They can bite my ass. I won't be dyin' on no one anytime soon."

"Oh, so you say," the jailer replied.

"Thresh, I told you kindly to FUCK OFF. I recommend you be adherin' 'fore I make ya." The jailer laughed menacingly at the man before rubbing his chin, letting the saggy skin get carried left to right with his grubby finger. He carried a loose chain with him for relatively no reason other than to give the inmates a fresh reminder of the fact that they were locked up for life. The man twirled it around like a jump rope and often times slung it over his shoulder. He wore the keys to the prison cells around his waist as if he wanted them to know that he held the only possible to ticket to freedom. He would often dangle them around in front of prisoners and, on occasion, give them the keys just trip them on their way out of their cells and whip their hides with the chain he wore. Overall, Thresh did not possess very many redeeming qualities.

Ignoring Malcolm's request, he continued to talk. "Malcolm, do you have kids at home? Perhaps a wife forever awaiting the arrival of her beloved husband? Or maybe you already know that she has abandoned you? Gone for a better man? Someone with more charm and less of a… criminal record?" Malcolm ignored Thresh's comments and sat in silence. His words did not affect him, seeing as he had no wife or kids.

"Not married hmm? Perhaps you just don't have the looks? Or maybe… Oh, I see now. It's your partner isn't it? The man with the card tricks and the fancy cowboy hat? He took your woman didn't he? Left your sorry ass behind? Shame. I'll bet she is twice as happy huh?" The last comment fired a cannon at Malcolm and he sprung to action in an attempt to punch Thresh in the jaw through the bars. The man was awaiting the movement and quickly stepped backwards to dodge the fist. In nearly an instant, he grabbed for the chain around his shoulder and whipped it through the crack in the bars. Malcolm's face seared with pain as the cold steel slashed at his face, ripping open a cyst in the process. A mixture of pus and blood poured down the man's face and dripped onto the rotten flooring beneath him. The blaze in his heart was inextinguishable and Malcolm threw his fist into the stone flooring. The impact did no damage to the ground, but the motion helped to relieve stress. He pounded the rock again and again and succeeded in doing nothing more than draw blood from his knuckles and coat his hands in pain. Thresh watched with eyes wide open as Malcolm punched the ground, and a smirk eroded over his face.

"He has gone mad!" Thresh yelled before cackling into the open air. "I thought I was the only one around here!" The jailer laughed with a morbid glee as he walked back out of the room. Whether or not he had come with any sort of intention, was left unknown and forgotten as Malcolm's insanity drove him away from the cell. After he had left, the outlaw leaned back onto his ratty feet and held his hands tight. The pain was not going to leave, but he did not want it to. He would rather the pain rest on his fists than in his heart.

"Don't let his words get to you," a voice called out. Malcolm sat unmoving as he responded to the voice.

"The hell do you keep coming back here. I ain't got nothin' for ya," he responded.

"But you do. You have a weary soul. I am here to help."

"Help someone who gives a damn."

"Malcolm you are harsh. Please, let me be of assistance." The man turned to face the woman speaking to him. Her name was Karma; an Ionian priestess who visited the jail in an attempt to help those facing execution to see a smooth transition to the afterlife. She dressed like a religious woman; wearing a white and purple gown that covered most skin down to her legs, which were fairly exposed from the dress's nature. She had a green tattoo that spiraled up her leg and resembled a dragon, generally believed to be the tangible form of the Ionian spirit. She wore a circlet around her head and a large metal adornment reached out from her back. A few of the pieces appeared to float in the air, most likely from some sort of magical enchantment. Parts of her gown were armored however, and this led Malcolm top believe that she did partake in fighting to some extent, but perhaps it was strictly to protect her people of Ionia. Her complexion was a little darker than his, being a fairly characteristic attribute of Ionians.

"Your garbage is garbage…" he muttered. Malcolm saw all of what Karma did as a spectacle, and did not want any part of the act.

"Excuse me?"

"I DON'T WANT NONE OF YOUR SHIT!" he shouted. The woman bowed her head and spoke softly to the man before her.

"Ask away," she replied.

"I ain't got no questions."

"Yes you do. Otherwise you would let me help you. So, what do you want to know? How can I make you a believer?"

"Ya can't; plain and simple." The woman sighed and crouched down to put herself at eye level with the man in front of her.

"Yes. I can." Malcolm stared her down as if his eyes shot bullets at her but she held strong in her gaze.

"Why the hell do people believe your garbage? Why would some greater power ever want anything to do with me?"

"The spirit of Ionia is not one to be reckoned with. Many have seen its power and have chosen to follow its guidance in respect."

"Well ain't that nice. But I ain't seein' nothin' happen 'round here but a sick bastard whip me and a cold meal get thrown my way. Or is this food from the Ionian spirit?"

"Some would believe it to be a blessing to still be alive at this point, Malcolm."

"Believe what they want, I ain't got shit. Might as well let me die. Only got a few days till they kill me anyways. All I gets ta do is spend 'em in here."

"You are missing the point Malcolm. You need to place your priorities on simpler things."

"Simpler than living? Shoot, I dunno how I'm s'posed to go down any further. Might as well go back to punching that floor. Might dig myself a hole outta here."

"That's hardly necessary or plausible. Your fists will break long before you get out." Malcolm allowed for a pause in the conversation as he drew in a large breath. Nothing he was saying would get rid of the woman, so he tried a new angle.

"With all due respect ma'am, I don't see what the point is here. Say I tell ya I'ma believe your hooha. Then what? I still rot for days then get my head cut off. Whoopdee freakin' dah." Karma smiled at the man and folded her hands.

"Say a prayer with me."

"A praa-what?"

"Don't be coy. Say a prayer. Fold your hands, close your eyes, and bow your head."

"Better fucking be beer and a shotgun when I open them…"

"Malcolm," she said in a rather commanding tone.

"Fuck it. Whatever. If it'll get ya ta leave." The man did as she asked, and his eyelashes batted the drying blood on his cheek as he closed his eyes. He could still feel a soft stream of liquid dripping onto his folded hands as he waited for Karma to continue with her ritual.

"Dear heavenly spirit of Ionia," she began. Malcolm let out a soft snort but she ignored his action and continued. "We pray to you today in hopes that you help aid this soul into the future. Whether it be through methods of survival or the power for his life to end in a peaceful demeanor, is not our choice to make. Your decision aside, we wish for you to bless this soul for the next few days and insure his passage be a safe one. In the name of Ionia, we pray."

"Amen," they said in unison. She smiled widely at him as she stood from her crouching position.

"You are a better man than you think yourself to be, Malcolm."

"You waste your time with me Karma," he replied.

"I do not believe so," she stated before leaving the room.

"You know that I'ma kill that jailer the next time he comes around, right?"

"I know nothing of violence," she called out to Malcolm before her path took her completely out of earshot.

"Don't matter if you don't know it, cuz I sure as hell do," he whispered to himself before making his way to the sorry excuse for a cot in the corner of his cell.


	10. Graves 3

A few more days passed as Malcolm and Karma awaited their arrival to the island of Ionia. The two did not converse a whole lot, seeing as Malcolm spent most of the time to himself, drinking in the ship's dining area. A few fights were about to break out before Karma intervened to diffuse the drunken situations. Passengers learned quite quickly just to avoid Mr. Graves in general; mostly for their own safety.

It was late afternoon as the Island started to come into view. Karma sat down at the table with Malcolm and the man remained silent.

"How have you managed to spend the entire trip down here?" she asked.

Time flies when you're too drunk ta notice." Karma rolled her eyes at the response and opened up a map onto the table between them, before pointing to a marked location on the paper.

"We will dock here. The General will give you his orders before dusk. Are you prepared to fight? The Noxians are unlike anything you've ever fought."

"I doubt that," the outlaw muttered. Ignoring his comment, she continued to inform him.

"The Ionian people are broken and scattered. Please be kind and courteous to them. Even so much as a smile can fill them with hope, while a cold shoulder could break their will. Save your bitter attitude for the battlefield where is needed." Malcolm was very unaccustomed to taking orders, and chose to stay silent to her request: he did not want to make any promised he could not keep. Instead of replying, he took out a bag of crushed tobacco and rolled it up with a separate leaf of the same plant. He pulled out a book of matches and sighed as he took the last stick and rubbed it against his jeans. It snapped in half in his hands and the broken twig fell through the crack in the floorboards. Malcolm held the partial match up to his face and stared at it blankly. Karma chuckled lightly at the man stuck in total disbelief.

"Halarious…" he grumbled.

"Quite the opposite," she sympathized while pulling a small gold and silver square out of her dress, placing it just in front of her ally. Malcolm took the trinket in hand and pressed its edges firmly. The top of the square flipped open, held on by a hinge, exposing a wheel and a spout. Sliding his thumb across the wheel, the spout licked up a small flame that he used to ignite his cigar."It's a little device I got from Piltover. They simply call it a lighter. I have found it to be quite handy, personally."

"That damn city never ceases to impress me," Malcolm muttered while gently patting the shotgun across his lap. He leaned back in his booth and enjoyed his smoke, while Karma sat and watched. "Does smoking bother you ma'am?" he asked. Karma shook her head in response.

"No, smoking and burning plants and incense is quite customary in Ionia, for ritual purposes and simple relaxation alike." The comment drew a grin from the outlaw as he tossed his bag of tobacco and lighter her way.

"Help yourself." Smiling, the priestess rolled up her own cigar and happily relaxed alongside her soon-to-be soldier.

* * *

The boat pulled into Ionian port as the sun began to fall behind the tree littered horizon. Malcolm and Karma were the last two passengers to walk off of the ship, simply due to the man's laziness prohibiting a sooner exit. The crowd walking off in front of them consisted of mercenaries in far over their head, people trained in medical arts and healing magics, and a few small groups of soldiers; which would explain the boat greeter's hesitance to allow Malcolm onboard in the first place.

Just feet into Ionian soil, Malcolm and Karma were welcomed by an Ionian general; the pentagon of stars lining his vest gave his ranking away. Much to Karma's surprise, the outlaw did salute the Ionian upon approach. Karma chose to say her hellos with a bow; a more customary greeting from a priestess. The general returned both gestures and launched straight into business. He spoke with both hands held firmly behind his back. His face was fairly blocky, being clean cut and housing short black hair. His complexion was lightly tanned, much like Karma's, and he wore a thick pair of rectangular glasses on his face.

"Malcolm Graves I presume?"

"Yeah," Malcolm replied simplistically.

"General Kai. How well informed are you? Do you know what hellhole you have just stepped into?"

"I reckon I do. Pro'ly just a shitfuck of shit. Nothing I ain't accustomed to."

"A shitfuck of shit. Well said soldier." It was obvious that the phrase "soldier" was one Malcolm was going to have to get used to. He had never fought for someone else before; just his own lust and greed. The general gestured to a group of infantry men standing at attention to his right.

"You will be traveling with these men until I give further orders. They will take you to a village in the north named Novar. Noxian troops are presumed to be on the way as we speak. I hope you are well rested. For now, your objective is simply to hold the town while the civilians leave. Any questions?"

"No sir," Malcolm replied. The general dismissed them with a nod and ran off towards the boat. Malcolm looked over and saw a very large number of Ionian refugees shoving and bustling to get on board. Kai was attempting to assist and organize the situation to insure the safety of the passengers.

"This is where we part, for now Malcolm," Karma said to her ally. He nodded and walked towards the group of soldiers still standing and ready. He lolled about for a few moments before one of the men looked at Graves quizzically.

"Sir?"

"What," Malcolm stated.

"Um… our orders?"

"Hell, they put me in charge?"

"Erm, yes. Did General Kai tell you where we are headed?" the soldier asked, clearly getting more nervous the longer the conversation persisted.

"Yeah, goin' to uh..." The outlaw paused to scratch his stubbly chin. The group of men exchanged worried looks before he remembered the name. "Novar. North to Novar. Gotta defend 'em, let the people get out." The soldiers nodded and turned about to lead the way; quite confident that their new commander had no idea where he was going or what he was doing. Malcolm did not mind: he just wanted to shoot whatever it was that he was supposed to, and move on.

The small army arrived at Novar and saw a flurry of people bustling about in a frantic attempt to get their belongings gathered up and moved out. Very few children were left in the town by that point in time, but it was quite obvious that not everyone was willing to give up the lives they had lived for so long. Some were too afraid to travel to Valoran, unsure as to whether or not anything was truly waiting for them in such a foreign land.

After ordering a soldier to watch the horizon and wave when he saw troops, Malcolm turned to watch the citizens frolic about the town of Novar. The Ionian warriors under his command sought to help them in their escape, but the outlaw simply stood and waited for the Noxians to arrive. He had never been a people's person, and nothing was going to inspire him to become one on that day.

Nearly half an hour passed as the last of the citizens made their way out of their homes and fled south to the refugee ship dock. The soldier standing watch turned and waved his hands frantically in indication that a threat had arrived. One of the men under Malcolm's command looked his way, wearing the same worried expression he held previously.

"Do we fight them?" he asked nervously.

"Yeah. If we don't, then they'll chase the people we jus' helped leave," Malcolm replied.

"Yeah… You're right. Okay…" The soldier was clearly not very confident in his ability to hold the town, and honestly, neither was Malcolm: he simply did not care. He was there to help the people and Ionia. If soldiers were lost, regardless of the side, the outlaw did not plan to fret, so long as his mission was accomplished.

"Nearly two hundred Noxians are approaching our position sir," the watch guard informed him. "Orders?"

"Hang tight men. 'Bout to get into some nasty shit," he replied as the army made its way into clear view of Novar.

* * *

Malcolm sat behind the same pile of rubble for nearly an hour as he continually slung shot after shot into the approaching Noxian army. He knew all too well just how many of his ally Ionians had fallen around him, but he did not particularly care. Pumping lead into the giant mass and watching it slowly dwindle down in size was more than satisfying for him.

"The hell are reinforcements comin'…" Malcolm muttered to himself questioningly, suspecting that General Kai did not intend to leave Malcolm and the small squad of Ionians to stand against the two hundred Noxians alone. He looked around to his sides to see what kind of shape his army was in. Not to his surprise, there were not any Ionian soldiers left standing in the town. Noxian troops pushed on his location from the front, and a few were beginning to flank from the sides. Grinning, the outlaw blasted the flanking Noxians to pieces with two quick shots and turned to find cover a further distance back that would make it harder for the enemy to sneak up on his sides.

He vaulted a broken portion of a house's wall, still soaked in a mixture of different bloods from the previous battles it had seen. Malcolm glanced over his makeshift cover to see what he was up against; an army of at least a hundred Noxian's still marched towards Novar with expressions of determination and bloodlust. The town was completely empty aside from Graves himself, who contemplated his options. He could retreat, knowing that his job was done of securing the safety of the villagers – whether or not that had been an entirely successful endeavor – or he could stand his ground and fight off as many troops as he could. The cold metal of his shotgun barrel transitioned to a searing steel as he ran his dirty fingers up its choke. A smile cracked through the shaggy facial hair he wore and the answer became fairly clear to him: Destiny was not about to quit on Malcolm, and Malcolm was not about to quit on Destiny. A quick jingle of his shotgun slug pouch assured him that there was hardly a reason to back down so soon. He unstrapped the spare belts of ammunition from his chest and laid them on ground beside him, counting the shots he still had left outside the pouch.

"Twenty-four…" he grumbled. "Only one thing better than twenty-four…" Malcolm cracked open his shotgun and let the empty shells clingle to the ground before he sorted the used ones from the clean ones. He found only one of them was still good to use, and pushed it to his pile. The man grabbed all of the shells out of his sack and reloaded Destiny with them. Each slug gave a satisfying click as he shoved them into his weapon, causing his smile to grow successively wider. Closing the high ammo capacity chamber with a sharp snap, he took aim over the broken barrier to the dark silhouettes of the pressing soldiers.

The cocking of the gun echoed out to the dark surroundings loud enough to warn the soldiers of what was to come; but not fast enough. The proceeding gunshot boomed through the air in a deafening eruption before the slug landed in the poor sap sorry enough to lead the pack marching on Malcolm's location. The penetrated shot exploded out and engulfed every soldier within a fifty foot radius in a blazing inferno. The soldiers screamed in agony as their bodies were ripped to shreds from the sheer force of the blast. However, this was not the entire army, so Malcolm shot again. And Again.

His shotgun's ammunition continued to spray hell itself at the oncoming Noxians until not a soul rested on the horizon. He emptied the last of explosive shells into his hand and reloaded Destiny with his normal rounds. The bombshells he had just let loose were sure to bring someone's attention soon, but in the meantime, he could lean back and enjoy a cigar, looking out into the heat streaks polluting the black Ionian sky, smiling merrily at the destruction he had caused.


	11. Graves 4

"No Karma, I have not seen him or any of the troops I sent to Novar."

"But General Kai! They are your soldiers and Ionian people! Are you just going to abandon them?"

"Abandon is not the right word. They did their duty; the citizens made it out. This is war, and sacrifices have to be made."

"Can't we at least send someone to go check?"

"What's the point? You heard those explosions just as well as I did. It's most likely that the Noxians just leveled the town completely. If that's the case, sending soldiers there would just be more casualties. We still have more towns to evacuate and we can hold their lines just as well as we could hold Novar. The answer is no Karma. I am sorry that your soldier was more average than you thought."

"You are wrong. He is no average soldier. He is no average man," she stated, making her way north towards the town of Novar.

"Where are you going?! Karma! It's suicide!"

"We will prove you wrong." The General rolled his eyes and stared down the path she was about to travel. Sighing, he bounced forward and fell in line behind her.

"Why do you trust that lost soul so much?" Kai asked her. She smiled and bowed her head.

"Let me tell you a story," she began. Her words wove through the air, painting the scene for the General, as the two of them marched northwards.

* * *

The rough cotton scrapped Malcolm's face as he pushed the pillow to a potentially more comfortable position. Grumbling in frustration, he threw it against the jail cell's bars and heard a laugh in response.

"They execute you tomorrow," echoed Thresh's disgusting voice. "I thought that I'd stop by and say hello to a good friend of mine."

"Keep movin' asshole, cuz he ain't around here," Malcolm replied. The man cackled at the response and walked closer to the gates holding the outlaw in.

"Your bitter soul makes me smile Malcolm. Oh how I wish I could just scoop it out of your body as your head rolls off of the chopping block. Would be wasteful to dispose of such a... 'unique' spirit."

"Go to hell." The comment made the jailer laugh once more as he dangled the keys in front of Malcolm's face.

"Go on, dog. Take them. Run to freedom. If you think you can." The man behind the bars simply watched the rusty metal pieces swing back and forth in front of him as he lay, emotionless. Thresh frowned at the action and dropped the keys to land beside the man's bed. "Whoopsie!" he taunted. Malcolm shook his head and rolled over on his cot to stare at the wall. The lack of the uncomfortable pillow made resting even more impossible, but anything to turn his face from the jailer was acceptable to him at that moment.

"Grab the damn keys and GO!" Thresh shouted, clearly less then pleased. Malcolm ignored the demand and received a sharp whip to the backside from the man's chain. "MOVE!"

"Stop at once!" Karma told him, entering the room just then.

"Ah... The Ionian priestess. Dedication to seeing lost souls become more lost until they die. What grandeur of illusion you display. What brings you here today, hmm? Perhaps you wish to talk to this whelp before he can't respond any longer?" Thresh's words cracked through the air like his chain whip, but Karma paid them no mind. She kept her head bowed and continued with her mission.

"I would like to talk to the prisoner for awhile. May I?" The Ionian woman had no need to request an audience, but she tended to ask Thresh regardless to avoid confrontation with him.

"Bah, fine. But quickly. Him and I have yet to conclude our discussion."

"What is it?" Malcolm asked.

"Face me when you talk," Karma told him. He griped, but did as she asked, rolling the freshly made wound across the wooden cot's rotten exterior. He cringed at the pain, but made no comment; showing Thresh that his actions caused injury was the opposite of what Malcolm wanted to do.

"Ah, trained the dog well have you?" the jailer said. The two ignored his comment and stared for a few moments until the priestess spoke up.

"You told me that he would be dead. What happened to that promise?" she teased.

"Kill me?" Thresh laughed for the next minute in expression of the humor he found in the concept.

"I guess I've been feeling generous." Malcolm's statement seemed to surprise Karma. She clearly did not see the idea to be as ridiculous as Thresh presumed it. Remaining in silence, the outlaw watched her carefully, waiting for her to say something else. No response came, but he saw her eyes dart from his, to the ground where the keys lay, a few times in a row. Malcolm had no idea what she planned to do, but at that point in time, he was willing to trust her.

Malcolm moved quickly as he lunged for the keys and then the door to his cell. Thresh smiled menacingly and revved up his chain in preparation to whip the escapee; however, he moved to slow to react to the Ionian woman's actions. She fired a spell at the jailer that connected the two together, as a channeling of energy locked his body in place. Malcolm took flight out of cell and down the hallways of the old prison, searching for his shotgun, Destiny. Before he had rounded the first corner, Karma called out to look for the room on his right. He spotted what she was talking about and unlocked the door to find a room full of weapons and trinkets. They were either things that had been confiscate over the years by Thresh and held on to as trophies, or simply a room of possessions waiting to be disposed of post-execution. Regardless, his gun was lying in plain view atop a desk on the far side. He picked it, along with a sack of shotgun shells and two belts of ammunition, up and walked out of the room.

Just in front of him, he saw Karma fleeing around the corner, being perused by a very aggravated jailer. Graves knew his next action long before it happened as he cocked the shotgun back and took aim at the ground by Karma's legs.

"Duck," he barked at her. The next instant a sharp crack rang through the hallways as Destiny's scattered bullets found their way into Thresh's legs, just over Karma's crouched person. The jailer fell to the ground in a yelp and Malcolm walked over to look down to the fallen guard.

"Hey Thresh, I got a question for ya," Malcolm stated. Smiling, the cripple man looked up at the shotgun being held to his face.

"Oh? And what would that be?" Thresh asked, with the usual riddling tone to his voice.

"Fuck you." Malcolm's words were closely followed by a second shot that tore into the jailer's torso and left a scatter of lead in the floor all about the man. The impact was not well place enough to kill the man, but the outlaw did not want it to be. Grinning in victory at the bleeding, wheezing man at his feet, Malcolm tossed his keys into the cell of a nearby inmate watching the scene. The man simply looked to the keys in disbelief and joy as Graves turned to leave the prison.

"Haaave fun!" he called out behind him, knowing all too well that the other members of the prison would not have the same amount of mercy on the jailer as Malcolm did.


	12. Graves 5

A light fire clung to the tip of Malcolm's cigar, fighting off all of the crisp wind's attempts to blow it out. He gritted his teeth in attempt to ward off the cold until the sun had finished its gradual march to the top of the horizon. As beams of light shot into visibility, they began to outline the second wave of Noxian troops that pressed on to the village of Novar. Never before had the small town experienced the cruel face of combat, but on that particular day, it did not seem to see the end of it.

Malcolm knew he had the element of surprise; not a single Noxian knew that there were any survivors lying in the rubble of Novar, and they all intended to simply waltz through it and onto the next Ionian village, waiting to be exterminated.

Nearby bushes created a soft rustling sound and Malcolm turned his head to face it. Swiftly, he extinguish the stub of his cigar and cocked his shotgun. After aiming it into the foliage, he heard a voice cry out in response.

"Malcolm?!" Karma called. The outlaw lowered his weapon and simply grunted. A hard slap was heard from the shadows followed by a yelp from General Kai. "I TOLD you he was fine!" she scolded. The comment raised a grin from Malcolm as the two came into full view before him.

"I uh... Where are my soldiers?" Kai asked.

"Well you're standin' on one, pardner," Graves said. The General looked down and quickly leaped to a new position after realizing the statement's truth.

"So... Um. The rest, Malcolm?"

"Look around General. You'll see 'em." Kai seemed to be very confused, but did as the outlaw suggested. Upon scanning the poorly lit surroundings, he saw glimpses of his soldiers lying dead or in pieces amongst the tangle of Noxian soldiers. His look went grim when he saw the mess around him, and he held no more questions. The footsteps of oncoming soldiers could be heard in the distance, and Kai grew notably uneasy.

"We ought to fall back Malcolm, soldiers will be waiting for us in the next town and are better prepared than the three of us will be."

"Why risk their lives when we can hold 'em off?" Graves asked.

"You... think so?" The General tightened his grip on the Ionian lance he held. It was better suited for combat while atop a horse, but he had been torn off his mount often enough to know how to hold his own on foot. The man adjusted his glasses to let them set more centered on his face, and he stared straight at the oncoming army. "Very well." Kai's lance became engulfed in a green spectral flame that serpentined its way towards the tip. The fire was quite reminiscent of the tattoo on Karma's leg; the body of the spirit of Ionia. Malcolm's unlit cigar stub fell from his mouth and he rose his eyebrows in the man's direction. Karma entered a short meditation and a similar blaze blew about her figure. She smiled at Malcolm, who still had not risen from his seat.

"The spirit of Ionia is strong Malcolm. Perhaps you would like to see it from someone truly capable of posing its will?"

"Whatever lets us not get fucked like we ought to be," he grumbled, rising to his feet.

"I can assure you, as a priestess that is far from my intentions," Karma teased.

"Then lead the way ma'am." She nodded in approval and split off to the right hand side to gain vantage on the approaching army. The scowl on Kai's face seemed to disprove of the decision to put the priestess in charge over himself, but he never voiced the concern. He got over his pride and turned to find cover along the left side. Malcolm slid forward into the next closest wreckage he could abuse for protection, and waited for the army to push farther forward.

The outlaw did not let his gaze be deterred as he shot into the crowd of Noxian's now inside the village's grounds. General Kai moved leftward and Malcolm stood around for a minute before he began to walk forward. He pumped a fury of lead into the approaching Noxian army and watched their massive force start to take a small dent in numbers. To the sides, Karma launched a whirlwind of green and pink fluctuating spells through the air to help funnel the troops closer toward Malcolm. Kai jumped around to different covers as he popped out to skewer an enemy and dip back into the shadows. The tactic seemed fairly cowardly to Graves, but perhaps such caution was the only way he foresaw victory in the horrendously outnumbered battle.

The troops fell as the team kept to a well coordinated defense and abused the range and stealth that they held. As the wave of pawns lay in heaps about the fractured town, a second wave of more heavily armored troops set in. Malcolm found his slugs to be less effect against the new soldiers. Shouldering off the shots, one of the brutes took a large swing at Malcolm. The blow sent him flying back and General Kai stepped in to defend. His lance found a weak point in the Noxian armor and the man tumbled to the ground as the weapon retracted from his flesh. A slush of blood came with it and the soldier besides them looked on with a slight bit of unease. More of the troops took to his side and Kai quickly realized just how grim his situation looked. Karma launched a few more of her spells to lock down some of the approaching enemies and a rustle was heard from behind. Malcolm had gotten back to his feet and was rushing towards the mass of Noxians.

"Get back!" Malcolm shouted as he passed Kai and Karma. The General nodded and turned to run as the Noxians took Malcolm's bait. He dropped the shotgun as he ran and shuffled through his pouch of shells to get the last high explosive one into the palm of his hand. Karma noticed the action and her eyes narrowed in focus. A green ethereal dragon whisked up around the outlaw's feet as he ran into the center of the Noxians. A large axe swept the man off of his feet and tumbled head over heels until he lay flat on his back, staring at the enemy soldiers. One raised his axe in preparation to drop it on the defenseless man and he stared the soldier in the eye with an unfaltering gaze. He rolled sideways just before the weapon made contact and Graves did his best to lunge away from the resulting reaction. Within his last seconds, the Noxian noticed a small red shell lying on the ground where the outlaw had been moments before. Once the axe hit the flat end of the slug, all of its explosive power erupted outward and engulf the army in flames.

Karma could feel the energy of her magical shield fade out and she could not help but to stand in place. The lands in front of her remained ablaze: the grass, the dirt, the corpses, and the upturned stones from the crumpled buildings. She scanned the area and a gloomy air set in about her. General Kai had stopped once he heard the explosion and turned to watch the flames where Malcolm had stood. He let out a sigh and walked over towards Karma.

"The man had grit," he stated. The priestess shook her head.

"Has. The man has grit." Kai raised a skeptical eyebrow. "He's around," Karma told him. "The blast may have sent him a good ways, but he is definitely around."

"We can start to look but..." Kai posed the idea mostly out of sympathy; he had no intentions of finding a living Malcolm after an explosion of the nature he had just witnessed, and truly just hoped to retreat to the next village, where his soldiers awaited their orders.

"Then let us search," she said plainly. The General nodded reluctantly and they began to scout the remains of the village.


	13. Graves 6

A gentle breeze found its way across Malcolm's face as he lay in the mud facing a toppled tree. The log made a five inch gap with the ground and a creek could be seen flowing behind the short grass swaying in front of Malcolm's vision. His body was sore but the cool air was almost alluring. He reached a grimy hand into the gap and dipped the tips of his fingers into the water. He felt a chill from the ends of his hands straight to his stomach. After letting the water run across his skin for a few moments, he pulled the hand out and ran it across his face. He wanted to drink it, but he was smart enough to know not to drink swamp water.

The soothing liquid dripped down Malcolm's face, pulling mud and blood with it. The relief his skin got from the removal of the crusted substances was almost uplifting, but the massive amount of other factors aching his body prevented any sort of pleasure. Malcolm continued to lay on the ground, unsure as to where – or what – he was going to do next. The past few days had been such a mess that nothing seemed to make a whole lot of sense. Why he did not just get up and go back to Valoran, he did not know; perhaps it was simply the fact that there was nothing waiting for him on Valoran, and there was at least someone counting on him in Ionia.

He attempted to roll over and felt a searing pain jut though his body. Looking down, he saw a flurry of shrapnel decorating his side. The dirt around him was wet with his own blood, but his skin was fairly dry and crusty. He must have been lying where he was for quite some time. He moved a quaky hand towards the metal pieces and began to pry them from his flesh. The removal was painful, but he could not allow the wounds to heal up around the shrapnel.

Once the metal was freed from his leg, he leaned up against the log in front of him. He let his head roll back over the wooden rest and listened to the quiet rustling of the water behind him. The serenity of Ionia seemed to have its own strangeness about its placement, but Malcolm was not going to complain.

He heard a voice call out to him; faint, but distinct. He ignored it at first – not wanting to get up from his spot – but it grew louder and louder over time. Eventually, the shout turned in to an exclamation and a quick series of steps placed a woman just above Malcolm. He lifted his head to see Karma standing near him, who straddled his stretched out legs and sat on his lap. She rubbed her hands over his face; a beaming smile glued to hers.

"You are alive!" she yelled in excitement.

"He's got grit..." General Kai muttered from the background.

"No... He's got heart," she corrected as she gave Malcolm a soft jab in the chest. "You never cease to amaze me Malcolm. You never cease to amaze me."

"I ain't shit..." he murmured to himself.

"You are wrong Malcolm! You have proven time and time again that you truly do care! You were willing to give up your life for a country of people you don't know! You didn't hesitate for a second as you pushed into the enemy line. I don't get you Malcolm. You tell me you don't care and that you don't believe but everything you do is selfless and fearless. What is it that you want from me Malcolm? How can I make you truly trust in the spirit of Ionia?" Karma finished her question and Malcolm leaned in close to her face. His grimy nose pressed against hers and he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. She was fully prepared for him to advance and was caught quite off guard by his next action.

"I want a cigarette," he coughed through his dirt and blood stained lungs. Karma laughed at the request and dug around his pockets until she gathered what she needed to make him a cigarette. She rolled it up and lit for him, before sticking it in his mouth like a nurse with a thermometer. The outlaw then turned to General Kai who was still silently watching the scene.

"Where to now, sir?" he asked.

"Home," Kai said while shaking his head. "You've been missing for a couple of days now. After your stand at Novar, a small village to the north was invaded. The Noxians found themselves unable to contest our Wuju soldiers, and bombarded them, friend and foe alike. The League of Legends was not too happy about the use of chemical warfare and decided that a match on the Fields of Justice would be held to determine Ionia's freedom." Kai paused for a second to nod at Malcolm. "We won. Noxus is leaving. Which means that your decision to hold the line at Novar saved the lives and homes of everyone in the southern portion of the country. You did well Malcolm. You have my gratitude."

"How did you find all of this out?" Graves questioned. The General pulled out a letter and handed it to him. As soon as he opened it, an ace of spades fell out onto his lap. The man turned the card over a few times before pocketing it; he did not even bother to read the letter.

"Fate..." he grumbled. "Looks like I'm off to the League then," he said as he stood up slowly, just after Karma got off to lend him a helping hand.

"What are you going to do Malcolm?"

"Kill him," he replied. The priestess shook her head.

"I know you better than that Malcolm. And besides, if you join the League, you can't fight outside of its walls."

"Don't matter. I'll wait."

"Well, let's travel together then," she said while playfully tugging his hand forward. "I plan to fight for my people in League. I never want to have to see so much suffering inside of Ionia." Malcolm nodded and the two set off south to the closest port with plans to travel back to Valoran. General Kai moved in behind them but stumbled in his step. He glanced back and saw Malcolm's shotgun lying on the ground, discarded after the explosion.

Kai picked it up and traced the letters that spelled out Destiny with his index finger. The man shook his head before thinking aloud to himself.

"Wish I had more soldiers like him. Ionia wouldn't have anything to fear. He has more of this land's spirit flowing through him than anyone I have ever met, yet he places his faith in a preset destiny. I wish he understood how much he is being looked after by the spirits, not guided by chance." The General picked up the pace to make sure that Malcolm got his shotgun back before he departed. Destiny needed Graves more than he needed it; even if he did not know so. 


	14. Ekko 1

The streets of Zaun were never a beautiful sight to the standard eye, but to many they were home; and home always held a beauty that no one else could understand. Home always beckons, and home always welcomes.

On that particular night, a boy walked among them, unable to call any place home since he had been no more than eight years old. Since that moment, the streets were home to him. His family was the strangers who lurked in alleyways alongside him, friends of his age, older, younger, same or different skin tone, same or different species, some able to control mana and some not, but all of these details were irrelevant in his mind.

His light footsteps resonated off of the walls as he trod along, knowing his destination but somewhat dreading it. The memories of his life's past burned in his mind, flickering in and out as he walked like the tip of a candle's flame. But just like the candle, it burns down the wick until there is nothing left; and the boy knew his wick was near its end.

The boy's name was Ekko, and it had been nearly five years since he last saw his parents. One he longed to see again, while the other made him burn at the thought of confrontation.

He gripped his hextech light bound sword tightly, letting his grip tense with each second his mind lingered on memories. The blade was a turquoise color of bent light, warped outwards as wide as a broadsword but held short to be certain Ekko could wield it effectively. It was built well, but not perfectly, as the beam-like blade occasionally pulsed with an uncontrolled surge of mana pumping its way outward. However, a tight grip on his sword was scarcely enough to dismount his thoughts. They meandered back to the night he lost his mother.

_I know I could have saved her. I saw her through the window but I decided to go around to the door. Why did I trust him? Why didn't I just smash through the window, acknowledging an emergency? Because I was a foolish child, that's why. I was too stupid to save my mother. But not now. Now I will get revenge for her. _

Ekko shook his head, his silvery mohawk swaying side to side in the momentum. He wanted to keep angry thoughts from his head to make sure he was fully prepared for what was to come.

The night's chill could not land its grasp on Ekko as he walked onwards; his blood was pumping too hot in his veins to allow it. He could see the cold etching its way into the homeless people sitting on the sides of the street, confusing his advance technology for riches, and begging for gold to buy them a meal. In all reality, Ekko had nothing for them other than a cold shoulder.

Straying his view from the poor, he saw a shop with a broken window, and the memory bore its way to the surface once again.

_I had yelled out for her, my voice cracking in agony. It was as if I could taste her blood in my own throat. I sprinted to the front door and banged on it, over and over. Each time I hit the door it splintered a little more, but I was just a child: I wasn't going to beat it down anytime soon. _

_I fell to the ground in a heap, knowing I saw my mother bleeding on the floor. Wasn't dad supposed to be with her? Wasn't he going to keep her safe? Foolish thoughts. Stupid thoughts. Ignorance is bliss I guess._

Ekko stomped in a puddle alongside the street and watched the water splash across the side of a building, decorating it lightly in his stray memories. He turned and watched his reflection dispel from bricks, the look of sorrow born across his face was enough to plummet the spirits of an angel.

Standing at an intersection of roads, his sword illuminated out in a turquoise cross shape. A small grin eroded over his face as he realized just how obvious he was making his presence. Stealth was not really a concern to him, but he did not want to have the drop made on him first.

Every building looked identically run down and abandoned, as did much of the architecture in Zaun. Ekko knew that the one his dad was hiding in was marked with his characteristic bleeding lightning bolt, but it did not make the search less agonizing. Waiting until daylight littered the streets may be beneficial in the search, but he could not afford witnesses or suspicion.

_Witnesses._

The word seared him to the core.

_No one saw him do it. No one saw my father murder my mother that night. I know it though. Even if he claims to not have done it directly, he is responsible. _

_The police officers who arrived at the scene claimed that there was no trace of a murderer, as if it was executed by a master assassin. They said that the case was going to be a difficult one to solve, given that there were no witnesses. Pathetic. They probably didn't even bother to spend more than a night looking for evidence. Piltovian police force is a joke. They claimed to be enforcing law in the forgotten parts of Zaun. It feels more like they are trying to tell us how to run things with their mouths taped shut. _

Despite every building looking as blandly the same as the next, Ekko spotted the signature bleeding lightning bolt streaked across the front of a door. Its metallic structure was rusting at the bottom and the handle was replaced by a roughly torn out hole. Ekko merely pressed the door open and the ancient hinges squeaked until a loud ringing resonated as it collided with the wall.

"Ekko…" a voice whispered from within the building.

_He's here._

He stepped in and felt the years worth of grimy buildup squish underneath his ratty shoe. His sword's glow lit up narrow hallways and overhanging structural beams. He waved it around like a lamp in search of his father.

A few steps into the building and he heard a shuffling from his right. Ekko took off at a full sprint and followed the sounds of echoing footsteps in front of him.

_He's running. Again. _

It was hard to contain his anger as he stormed down the hall, but he maintained his focus as best he could. One foot in front of the next as he flew after the murdered, convinced that he was finally going to get the revenge he wanted. The sting in his feet flaring straight through to his calves was a memory repeating itself from the night years ago.

_My legs burned so bad that I thought the muscles were going to split. My panting breath drew globs of saliva and mucus to my mouth, making breathing near impossible. I had given up on smashing down the door and took pursuit of a person fleeing the scene. Hopefully the police were already en route._

_The person's outline was familiar. The mannerisms of his movements stood out to me, like thee strange way his feet turned inwards as they pressed off of the ground. I knew it was my dad. There was no one else it could be._

_The hatred spiked into my heart twice as fast as it could beat. I wanted to catch him. I didn't know what I'd do, but I had to catch him. I let the anger become a distraction and I lost my footing. I remember watching my own blood seep into the concrete sidewalk and glisten a deep red and blue hue as the police cars rushed past me towards the murder scene at my house._

Eventually the path came to a halt. I stared it up and down as if I was going to be able to find a different way through. I held my sword upwards and looked to the support beams. I saw a face, sad and sullen, looking down at me before it curled into a gentle grin. He slid from his perch and landed right in front of me. His face showed defeat in every wrinkle, and I let it overwhelm myself with a sense of victory.

"You make me proud," he crowed in a dying voice. Ekko shook his head and speared the light bent sword straight through his stomach. His face hardly changed a bit as he gurgled out blood and sorrow. Ekko pulled his blade out of his flesh and stepped backwards, letting his limp body hit the ground with a thud. He crouched down, relief springing through his veins, and listened to his father's breathing. Ekko wanted to be certain he was done for.

"Proud… proud to know… that my son stopped at nothing… to follow through with his beliefs."

"My beliefs?!" he spat, rage welling up once more.

"You believed I was guilty… and saw justice through…"

"I… what? What are you saying dad?"

"Don't regret your decisions Ekko…" he coughed as the last of his breath escaped his lungs.

"Dad!" Ekko yelled. "Dad! Tell me dad! Was it you?! Did you kill mom?!" He pounded the steel floor next to his father, as if he could reverse his death and get an honest answer.

_A figure walked over me as I drifted in and out of consciousness and dropped a sack of gold coins. I heard them jingle just shy of my right ear, weighing a fairly large amount. _

"_This is for you bud," my dad said with a curt laugh. "Those new Piltovian life insurance policies will give me plenty more than this. You are going to need a little cash to make it on your own."_

_"Go to hell…" I said through desperate gasps of freezing air. I got a laugh in response and watched a pair of black boots walk away quietly, sliding through a crack between buildings before paramedics arrived to my aid. _

_I could have saved my mom, had I just been smarter. I could have caught my dad, had I just kept my footing. I just needed a second chance, to just go back a few minutes and fix things…_

Again, Ekko found himself desperate to go back just a few seconds in time, to get more answers, to ask different questions, to hold off his plight for justice until he knew more.

"Never again… I will make sure I never again regret a stupid decision." Ekko clutched the sword in his hand and patted a set of blueprints in his coat pocket. He took a small pouch of gold off of his dead father, and marched out of the building. Unraveling the blueprints before him, the words "Zero-Drive" were scrawled across the top, in silver colored marker.


	15. Diana 1

Stripped of her armor and wearing nothing more than the rags that were thrown at her, she kneeled before the elders of the Solari clan. She had wanted nothing more than the peace of mind she gained when she sat alone on evenings, staring up at the sky. Its vast space of blackness shrouded her with company, and left her feeling at peace. She sought for comfort and found it in the moon. Perhaps it was something to do with her own past. Perhaps she was forced to remember how many times she had sat outside at night and stared blankly into space. Perhaps the comfort was in being a rebel, seeing as the Solari tribe, of which she was a part of, worshipped the sun and everything that it stood for.

A few days ago, Diana had recovered an artifact, or rather, a collection of artifacts. She had discovered their existence in her plight to prove that the there was strength to be found in the dim light that emanated off of the moon. She was the happiest woman in the world when she found it, and took it back with her to prove to the tribe that she was right all along. The artifacts were a suit of armor; dark in colors that consisted of purples and blacks. The armor fit her perfectly, being fairly tight against her skin and exposing little of it. It did not have a helmet, or shield, but it did contain an arc shaped blade; one that was reminiscent of the crescent formation that the moon took on a few times a month. The blade glowed a soft white, yet it was forged from a dark metal, just like the armor itself.

However, upon returning to her camp she was not accepted as she had hoped to be. The elders of the clan stripped the armor off of her, leaving her naked; then they proceeded to throw rags at her, with the intention to cover her body as they planned to display her execution publically. She slowly put on her new set of clothes, attempting to delay the inevitable. She had no words to say. Not that she could if she wanted too; her throat was too weak from a combination of dampening tears and cries of agony. When she had finished, the elders dragged her into the center of the Solari's temple and pushed her to the stone ground, where she remained; wearing nothing more than rags and sobbing for her life. The elders began to speak of her and describe to the "audience" what she had done, and why the heretic must be destroyed. They made the point to beat her anytime she attempted to rise from her position, and repeated the act until she did have the strength to do anything more than kneel. She kept her head down, and thought about her past; all of the events that had led up to that point in time of her life. While the elders made their speech, she thought aloud, in whispers, her head spinning too much to allow a smooth steam of thought to course through it.

"I remember… a long time ago. Before the Solari had the protection that it does today… I was home. With my family. Everyone I knew and loved was around me. I felt peace, and comfort, as all children do. I couldn't have been more than five at the time. But I was old enough to understand and remember everything that was happening. We huddled around outside, happy and laughing. My father was a brave and strong Solari warrior; revered throughout the land as the leading power of the Solari's force. We were all… laughing. And playing. Enjoying our lives and the protection we thought that we had. The Solari tribe soon realized the errors of its ways after that night… never to instate just one man in charge of all of the forces…"

"As we sat and laughed and sang and danced, the day slowly turned into night around us. My parents suggested we go inside… get some rest. But most of us… me in particular… wanted to stay outside. I… I didn't want the day to end. I begged to stay outside longer, and they agreed. Soon, you could not see anything outside of the people directly in front of you. I remember… I remember a sudden blurring of vision. My family…. My family fell around me. One by one I heard their screams cry out into the darkness of the night. I sat and watched in horror as the assassin made his way around them, executing them quickly, and precisely. He had been watching… and waiting to strike. I had given him the opportunity of a life time. I kept them all out in the dead of night, silent and isolated… I stood up and walked to the edge of the small pond near to where we had been sitting."

"The assassin either seemed to ignore me or just decided I was not a threat. The soulless creature stabbed every member of my family, and every friend gathered with us that night. He finished his work and walked over to where I was standing. I looked into the lake and saw a light trickle of red seeping into the pure waters, spreading outwards like a tree growing into the open sky. I saw a reflection of myself and the blood of the ones I knew spreading over the image of my face. There was only one other thing in the reflection alongside me. In my deepest moment of despair, only one entity stood beside me. The moon was reflecting in its dark waters, shining next to my face as if it wanted to be nowhere else in the world."

"I waited for the assassin to stab me in the side, and add me to the collection of bodies. He looked down at me, and at the reflection in the water. He saw me, the blood pouring into the waters, the moon, and himself. I… cannot remember to this day what encouraged me to do so… but I yanked on his shirt as I stood at the water's edge… The tug pulled down his hood enough to allow his face to reflect in the water as well. I could not make it out due to the water's ripples, bloodied surface, and the shadow cast over his face. But the moon did all that I needed it to in that moment. The soft light that shone in the pond was what created that reflection. And the man looked into it, perhaps realizing his actions. He turned and looked at the bodies strewn all around him, and the life he had now left me in. He spoke to me. He… apologized. 'I'm sorry,' he said before he slid away into the night. I'm sorry… What kind of words are those to one in my position? What kind of mentally deranged individual can just blow off their actions with an 'I'm sorry'? If he is sorry, then it was a mistake. I am living in his mistake. I am SUFFERING for his mistake. And now… now…"

The elders had finished their preaching and had brought out a masked man with a large blade. He waddled over to Diana's position and readied the blade to strike down their heretic. But the woman kneeling in front of him was still speaking to herself. Her voice grew gradually more and more audible.

"Now I am being executed for doing what I loved… despite the fact that it did not arm anyone. It saved me. It SAVED me. The glow of the moon is not to be ignored. Nor will it let itself be…"

The woman grinned, and the executioner paused. He looked at the elders with a confused expression; however, it was hidden behind his mask. The elders motioned to continue, and he started to bring the heavy blade down towards her skull. The blade made contact with a searing pulse of light that split the razor sharp edge into to two pieces. The woman stood, her bonds being shattered by the glow that then encompassed her entire body. A light insignia of the moon glowed in her forehead, matching her silvery white hair that fell to her sides in a long scraggly mess. Her skin was very pale, as if she refused to leave the shelter of shadows during the day. This was an oddity, seeing as most of the Solari bore a fairly dark complexion. She stood with her arms outstretched, and her head bowed. The glow grew stronger as the armor she had brought to the tribe slowly appeared around her. The dark metals reflected the light of the moon with such a beautiful glow that even a few of the bystanders felt envy. She held her right arm outward and clenched her hand as the crescent blade appeared inside of it. She turned her head sharply and stared down the Solari elders with a glare of hatred. Within an instant, she teleported through the open space and appeared in front of all of them. With a few quick and decisive strikes, she cut them all down and watched their limp corpses collapse to the floor with a loud thud. She looked around at the horrified people running and screaming.

"They do not understand… the strength of the moon…" she said to herself. She lifted her blade to the sky and pierced it into the stone below her. The ground began to glow as the entire temple shook, starting to crumble and fall under the power of the moon. She unsheathed the weapon from the ground and fled. She had no idea where to go, and no direction to follow, but she was, for the first time in her life, free. She turned for a brief moment to look at the crumbling temple and all of the people fleeing it, without leaders or guidance; just as she had been many years ago. She bowed her head and spoke one last sentence before turning away for the last time.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.


	16. Dewitt 4

As the rusty old truck sputtered out emissions of smoke and foreign chemicals, Malcolm continued to grin merrily to himself over the success of stealing the vehicle and the enjoyment of operating it. Admittedly, Graves liked being in control of something powerful, which probably helped to tell why he preferred the kinds of weapons he did.

While he had not confessed to it yet, they were on the way to steal one of the most finely crafted shotguns in all of Valoran; a weapon designed by the ingenuity of the Piltovian's, built by the small steady hands of the Yordles, and crafted from the trees found in the lush forests of Ionia, and the resourceful mines of Kalamanda.

It was a gun multi-chambered shotgun, fueled with the liquefied magical powers of mana, equipped with an emergency tube to load with grenades of all kinds: smoke, flash bang, concussion, or fragmentation. It could fire in a spreadshot formation or in a large singular slug, capable of traveling a mile before it erupts into a collateral explosion to decimate any army in seconds. It was a weapon too good to be true, and after its creation, with peace talks and the beginnings of the Institute of War, it was decided to lock the gun away deep within the high security vaults of Piltover.

As the City of Progress began to come into a clearer view, Dewitt grew more curious as to what they were going to retrieve.

"Malcolm, are you plannin' on stealin' from Piltover?"

"Figured that one out right quick didn't ya?" he joked.

"Well uh, where from Piltover is this item you are lookin' for?"

"Ain't it obvious? Why would I need you if it was just some bank?"

"Hold it partner, you ain't referrin' ta…"

"Yeah, I am referrin' ta The PAV."

"The Piltover Armored Vault… You're one crazy son of a bitch Malcolm," Dewitt shook his head but his ally chuckled about it.

"You help me get in an' outta there, and whether or not I truly can trust ya, I'll always have leverage."

"A weasel. I found a fuckin' weasel."

"It's just like a game of cards. Always gotta have a backup plan, even if it is dirty."

"Ain't that the truth though?" Dewitt leaned back in his seat and scratched his head. "Everything's just a card game…" he muttered as he pulled out a deck of cards from his coat pocket and started to twirl them about his fingers.

"Ya look like a damn magician," Malcolm said, eying his performance.

"Yeah, you could say that." He let a small snort force its way out and continued his mesmeric shuffling until they pulled up to the edge of Piltover. They got out of the truck, being certain to take the keys with them, and did their best to blend in with the citizens on the street. People in Piltover dressed a little more elegantly and colorfully than Dewitt or Malcolm, and to an extent their dullness actually stood out.

It was not hard to find the Piltover Armored Vault; it stood stories taller than most buildings around it, and in a massive dome shape to be certain it had no weak corners. There was no doubt in their minds that the weapon actually sat deep below the ground, in some chamber hidden within a maze of other locked secrets, but knowing the vault's location was a start.

"How do we start?" Dewitt asked.

"Simple. We walk in." Malcolm gave a curt grin and cut across the street to the front doors of the vault. The inside was huge and spacious, loaded with civilians and employees bustling about, either enjoying the magnificent architecture and technology in place, or trying to get their belongings deposited safely. Malcolm pointed at a tour guide about to embark, and they slid in line behind a Yordle, eyes glued open with curiosity.

"A tour of an armored vault?" Dewitt questioned.

"They like to brag," Malcolm scoffed.

"Alright! Looks like we have enough to start the tour, so let's not dilly dally folks!"

"Shoot me now…" Graves grumble. His partner merely chuckled.

"AAALLLLLL ABOARD THE BRAIN TRAIN! Let us embark on our journey of knowledge as we tour the Piltover Armored Vault – called The Pav for short – the safest home for your loved belongings."

"I don't think I can take this…"

"Shush Malcolm, it's easy information."

"On our left up here is where the items you bring get sized for the appropriate container. Beyond that room in the distance is where they get stacked before they can be sorted and stashed away. Who wants to go see the sorting room!"

"Oh oh oh! I dooo! The jittery Yordle called out, nearly exploding out of his skin in excitement.

"Good! Rrright this way my vault dwellers!"

"Oh we are HIS vault dwellers now huh?" Malcolm grumbled.

"Uh, did you just admit that we are 'vault dwellers'?"

"Once I get that gun it is going straight up your –"

"Oooh I hear a lot of chit chat in the back there! Do you dwellers have some questions you'd like to share? I'm sure that we'd ALL benefit from an answer!"

"Naw, we was just wonderin' were everyone got their fancy little brochures there." Dewitt pointed to one of the other members of the group and the tour guide lit up with excitement immediately while reaching in to a fanny pack and whipping out extra copies for them.

"All's ya got-sta do is ask parrrdner! Yeehaw! Let's get these horses movin'!" The guide then ran off ahead, making the group scurry to keep up.

"Malcolm, if you don't shoot him, I reckon I will."

"Shut yer yap, we need this information," he mocked back. Dewitt rolled his eyes and lowered the brim of his hat, as if being unable to see the tour guide would help make his voice more bearable.

Attempting to tune out the guide, they looked at the brochures they had been handed and analyzed the map tucked inside. It was a remarkably detailed map, with a bright red arrow pointing out the course of the tour. It seemed to intentionally lead the party away from certain unmarked sections of the vault; likely for a reason.

"Aaand up here we have two cowboys not paying attention!" The two looked up from the map to glare at him. "Ah ha! They ARE still with us! Let's move on to the super secret parts of the vault! Shhh! Don't want to let anyone know about this!" he said with a wink.

"Why is that?!" the Yordle exclaimed.

"Well because I don't show this to just anyone you know! But you guys have been a super duper group, so I'll share with you a super duper secret!"

"What kind of secret?!"

"Well you will just have to wait and see!"

"What if I wanted to STEAL this secret, hrm?" The comment was the first thing to catch the guide off guard.

"What's your name champ?" he asked.

"My name's Wallach! I'm a Yordle who –"

"Wehehell Wallach," the guide interrupted. "You had better stop asking strange questions or I will have to make the guards –"

"Did you just interrupt me?!" Wallach shouted out, still jittering with excitement like a child who had drank a coffee. The guide stare pretty blankly, unsure if Wallach was joking or not, due to the misleading tone of his voice.

"Perrrhaps this will be where we conclude the tour folks!"

"No we want to see the SECRET!" The Yordle was beside himself with either excitement or rage; no one was really certain.

"Okayyy…" The guide brought out a walkie-talkie and asked for security to make an appearance to deal with the furry guest. Hearing himself be called furry, Wallach began to evolve from a jitter to a what appeared to be a full on seizure. Dewitt and Malcolm stared as the three foot tall being was dragged away, an ear to ear smile still plastered awkwardly to his face.

"So partners, sorry about the unruly guest, let's continue our tour shall we? Lasts top for the BRAIN TRAIN!"

Completely perplexed by what had happened, they followed the guide down to a lower level of the building.

"This is where most of the goods and valuables turned in are held! As you can see, only the highest security measures are permitted to protect our vault!" There was an obvious display of laser-tripwires, plated steel cases, high tech locks, various traps and rotating security cameras; and that was just for the general storage items. The guide led them slowly back to the entrance of the building, being certain that everyone had a chance to take in all of the technology scattered about.

"So! This concludes our brain train tour! I hope your brains aren't too sore from all of that information, because we are about to embark on ROUND TWO!" The comment received nothing more from the audience than a few groans and one man flipping the guide off.

"Haha! Ooonly joking folks! Any last questions before I let you go?"

"I had one," a woman stated from the front of the crowd. "You showed us what you said was most of the stored items, was there another level?"

"Ah ha! I appreciate the enthusiasm! But yes, there is another level of more CLASSIFIED information, wooo! It's spooky folks! But enough on that, what other questions do you have?"

Not wanting to hear the man talk any longer, no one bothered asking anything else.

"Ya'll have a wonderful day and be certain to come back soon!" he shouted as he waved them off. Dewitt and Malcolm walked out with the crowd and saw Wallach continuing to make a scene with the guards outside of the vault.

"I want to know the SECRET!" he screeched. The small hairs covering his body were all ruffled; most were standing on end, but some were pointed strange directions where there had been obvious indication of struggle.

"What in the hell is he talking about?" One guard asked aloud.

"Beats me," the other replied. Dewitt tightened his hat and moved forward briskly.

"Howdy fellas!" he called out.

"Can we help you?" they asked.

"I was actually gonna help you all. Our furry friend here was promised to see a secret by that there tour guide. Seems he is a little more than anxious about it." They all turned their heads to the Yordle who had begun twitching and drooling in addition to the spastic movements, yet the insane smile was still sitting on his face.

"And you think you can help him?" the guard asked.

"Alls you gotta do is show him the secret," Dewitt said with a slight wink, to hint at his bluff.

"Ahhh, alright sir, you are welcome to show him 'the secret'."

"Rodger thaaat," he replied curtly, walking over and bending down to the Yordle.

"Hey buddy, you lookin' to see that secret?" he asked gently.

"YES! Yes yes yes yes yes!"

"Alright my friend, let's take a quick journey out to see this then, shall we?"

Wallach followed Dewitt and Malcolm as they wandered towards an inn, rented a room for three, and headed in a little earlier than most.

"Long day?" they inn keeper asked, noting their early arrival for a typical traveler.

"Not too bad, more of an early mornin' ahead though." Faet added a heavy sigh to the sentence, implying a distaste of the next day ahead.

"Hey not a problem, I'll get you a room on the far end so you don't have to deal with traffic noise," the inn keeper said with a smile.

"Partner, you earned yourself a silver coin for the day. Your kindness is much obliged."

"The least I could do. First come, first serve right?" His grin held no secrets in how pleased he was with the compliment. Dewitt and Malcolm tipped their hats his way and shuffled up to their room.

"You talk a pretty good game, don't ya?" Malcolm snickered.

"It's a bit of a forte I reckon."

"A for-what?"

"A fort–"

"Where's the secret!" Wallach bellowed. The shout startled the two, seeing as he'd been so quiet for the past thirty minutes or so.

"Eh, it'll be a little while Wallach. Those guards ain't gonna let us walk back on in. Would you be okay with goin' in tonight after they leave?"

"It's DARK at night!"

"Uh, yeah. But I'm askin' if you's can wait 'till then."

"Oh yeah! I'm good at waiting!" With that, the Yordle scurried into the corner of one of the beds, rolled up into a peaceful ball, and sat silently. He could have been asleep, but neither of them bothered to check.

"So uh… What's the plan slick? How's we getting' in an' why is that rat with us?" Malcolm pressed.

"Hey, hey, no need to name call my friend. But that 'rat' is our ticket inside."

"Pardon?"

"Looky here," Dewitt seemed to get pretty excited as he pulled out the brochure and pointed to the map. "We know that the lower level houses our gun. Gettin' in shouldn't be too hard, I'm sure they ain't got any guards around; they trust their technology too damn much. Playin' off that, alls we gotta do is get past cameras or even shut down their traps."

"And why does that involve Wallach?" Graves was still not entirely convinced a plan was forming.

"Well, seein' as most cameras and lasers are placed low enough a person can't crouch under 'em, perhaps a Yordle can."

"An' you think he will stay still long enough to get through the traps?"

"Worse case scenario, we find out what we're up against," Faet said with a grin. Malcolm's face did not mimmic the enthusiasm.

"I think we can find a better way in." His tone was gruff, implying distaste.

"Well… Alright Malcolm," Dewitt said, perplexed. "What do you propose we tell the Yordle his big secret is then?" Malcolm thought about the question for a moment.

"We can use him, but he ain't guinea pig." Dewitt stared, waiting for him to continue. "Look at that brochure again. What does it say about the storage rooms?"

"Well… Not much in particular. Rooms are isolated, never had a break in, everything down to temperature is regulated…"

"Right thur."

"'scuse me partner?" Dewitt was beyond perplexed.

"Temperature. They have to have air ducts to let hot air out, or cold air in."

"You don' think they'd make those big enough for us to use?"

"Mmm. That's not needed," Malcolm said with a grin. "Besides, even if we had Wallach discover what the traps are… It won't help us get around all of 'em, unless we get plenty more Yordles willin' ta charge in for us."

"Ya got me Malcolm." Dewitt's hands were in the air and his head shook left to right. "Your plan is much better. How do we get in ta the air ducts?"

"Hows about a maintenance room? Any on our map?"

"Yeah there's a few. And gettin' in to 'em?"

"That's where you shine Faet. We preten' we's workers. In a place that big, act convincingly and they'll think we work there."

"Well that's most of our bases covered. What about the Yordle? I doubt they'll think he works there. Not in his state."

"We put him in a duffle bag, along with any other tools we need. It'll just look like maintenance." Dewitt scratched his chin thinking over the whole plan. He seemed distrustful of relying on Wallach, but there was not much for him to lose even if the operation did go wrong.

"Alright, we can try it. Let's get some rest before we set off early. Gotta have a clear head." Malcolm agreed and threw himself down on his bed, having no intention of moving for until past midnight. Dewitt laid down and waited for Malcolm to start snoring before he slipped out if the room and quietly walked to the a utility closet down the hall. Checking to be sure that no one was watching, he entered the closet and closed the door behind him. A quick flick of the wrist drew a playing card out which he rotated around his fingers a few times as a sharp light blinked in and out around him. He soon disappeared and the card fluttered to the floor, leaving no other trace of Dewitt.


End file.
